


The Hunter The Gods Have Sent

by forsakenoathkeeper



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Male!Bloodhound, One Shot, Sex, bloodhound's face is detailed here - as I imagined them in this story, fem!reader - Freeform, reader is also a hunter but not in the apex games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsakenoathkeeper/pseuds/forsakenoathkeeper
Summary: For some, that battle cry invoked fear. For you, it was a blessing.





	1. The Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended to post this all as a one-shot. But, it ended up so long, so I decided to split it up, and I will post the remainder once I am finished.

Your prey truly was beautiful. She stood on lean, nimble legs, powerful and agile, as was the rest of her muscular form. Her fur looked soft as the blades of grass beneath her hooves and was just as green. The antlers atop her head were thin and twirling, much like the branches in the trees above. Her tail, long, skinny and hairless, aside from the bushel on the end, was nonchalantly swooshing back and forth, expressing her comfort. She stood tall and proud, her eyes never resting as she continuously scanned the area around her.

She had not spotted you, however, where you hid cleverly on the hill nearby, crouched between foliage and boulders. You had been tracking her all morning, following footprints in the mud from the early morning dew, following where the grass parted from her hooves treading through, following indents in the trees where she paused to scratch at her antlers. The season wouldn’t be changing for awhile. Her antlers weren’t due to shed just yet. She was likely anxious, but you weren’t sure what it was that made her uneasy. 

Bow in one hand, you carefully removed an arrow from the strap on your thigh and pulled it against the curved metal. The feathers tickled your cheek as you pulled the arrow back, tight and strong against the wire. The contraption was unfitting in the wilderness, but you knew how to hide it. The arrowhead was pointed directly at her, where it would pierce her heart and end her life in mere seconds. She would die before she felt the pain of the arrow or the blood oozing from her still beating organ. 

The bow creaked quietly as you pulled the arrow back. It was taut, pulled tight, just like the muscles in your abdomen and arm, ready to fire as soon as your fingers gave away. But, then, you saw a smaller prey crawl out from the nearby foliage. It shook its entire body, starting from its head, all the way down to its little hooves, shaking loose leaves and twigs that got caught in its fur. 

You relaxed your hold, letting the bow loosen and the arrow go limp in your grasp as you watched them. The youngling skipped over to its mother and ducked under her body to suckle at her tit. With how long and thick her fur had grown, you weren’t able to see the swollen bag, a clear sign that she was nursing. Still, you silently cursed yourself for not noticing and wasting so much time on her. 

The grass shifted behind you, so quiet it could have been the wind; however, there were many dangerous carnivores out here and you weren’t taking chances. You spun around, drawing the arrow back in a split second so it was ready to fire at whoever dared approach you. What was crouched in front of you, leaving a few feet of distance, wasn’t an animal, but a human… maybe. They were wearing a mask with two large lenses over the eyes and a tube over the mouth that moved around to the back, likely to a filter. 

You immediately recognized that mask, but didn’t immediately move to relax your arrow. You kept it drawn, pointed at their chest, this time, knowing it wouldn’t pierce that helmet. The stranger lifted their gloved hands and showed you their palms, fingers spread, an expression of compliance. “My apologizes,” they whispered, voice low, almost gentle, heavily accented, and oh so unforgettable. 

Bloodhound, one of the Apex Legends, clad in their signature helmet, though otherwise under dressed. They were not wearing their usual attire, clad in camouflage print, baggy pants and a light brown poncho over a long sleeved, light green undershirt. Their boots were faded brown, heavy with a thick tread and a little intimidating. The belt around their hips was thick and a bit hidden under the poncho; but, you caught the glimpses of the weapons they were carrying. 

You hesitated, not yet trusting of this stranger, yet not quite proud of keeping your arrow pointed at them for so long. “Your hunt vas impressive. Forgive me for overstepping boundaries,” Bloodhound spoke, like a distant whisper. You blinked at Bloodhound, wondering if that was the reason they followed you here. “I vas certain no one else hunted here,” they explained furthermore. 

You lowered your arrow, but kept your grip on it firm. Somehow, you knew that Bloodhound understood your precautions. They made no motion for their weapons, but lowered their hands to the ground for balance. “I’m not from around here,” you explained. Bloodhound nodded in understanding. “I am Bloth Hundr. You can call me Bloodhound. May I ask for your name?” The way Bloth asked for your name came unexpected: a firm request, but a gentle one. You couldn’t see into the lenses of that helmet to steal a look at their eyes, or the tiniest glimpse of skin, for they were fully covered. Yet, you didn’t hesitate to reply. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You already knew who Bloodhound was, sort of. You didn’t know who was under that helmet, how their face wrinkled when they smiled, or what name they were given by their parents. But, you knew what Bloodhound was: an Apex Legend, one of the best killers on the Frontier, a renowned hunter and infamous challenger. But, you didn’t make this obvious to Bloth, and was uncertain if they knew and simply didn’t acknowledge it, or was completely unaware. 

Even though Bloth hadn’t seen you in the week that passed since your first meeting, you saw them again, on TV. Bloodhound had won the match that week, secured the win and even made a substantial amount of kills. Their banner was on display all over the internet, all over television. It was quite the match and quite the victory. It was to be expected of one of the best hunters on the frontier. 

It didn’t stop you from returning to the same forest on the early hours of Saturday morning, with the hope of tracking a male this time. You managed to catch a large hoof pattern just as the sun rose and shined light through the trees. It was a little old, the impression in the muddy grass, but you were confident you could follow it. Sure enough, you wandered across more prints, broken branches where its antlers had gotten tangled, and even droppings. 

A few hours passed like minutes as you focused on the task at hand. Eventually, you found yourself in a thick bundle of trees, peaking between the logs to see what was making noises on the other side. There he was, magnificently huge, muscular, with antlers that towered above his head like tree branches. His fur was thick and lush green, expressing how healthy he was. This late in the season, you knew he would have already mated several females and was prime for the hunt. You would feel no guilt in claiming his life. 

You carefully unsheathed an arrow and pulled it along the bow before navigating slowly through the trees, crouched down low. You were dirty, with mud up to your thighs and streaks of green across your chest, back and arms from plants that you had rubbed against during your tracking. You blended in well where you lurked, carefully approaching a spot where you could get a clear shot. 

Just as you pulled your arrow back so the bow was taut, as firm as it possibly could go, you set your foot on a soft spot where the dirt had become muddy from rainfall. Your heel slid barely an inch, but made the most faintest of sounds as it did so. The shifting mud alerted the deer. His ears perked up and he rose, immediately jolting from where he stood and taking off in a gallop into the woods. 

You groaned, letting your weight fall against the tree nearby, slouching against it. You loosened your hold on the arrow, leaning against the tree with a heavy sigh. Your skull thunked against the tree, though you were too irritated and disappointed to feel how badly it hurt. You could almost hear the distant sound of your father’s laughter that always came before words of wisdom. But, he wasn’t here. However, a voice did follow, and it startled you. 

“Vas a good try,” a familiar voice spoke. You stood up straight and spun around to locate the voice. A familiar form stepped out of the brush, revealing themselves. You smiled a bit bitterly at that mask. “Sure,” you replied sarcastically, turning away from Bloodhound. “Did you follow me out here to mock me?” the words were not spoken with much venom, but they were still rude, falling from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“Vas not mocking,” Bloth stated firmly, walking around to stand by you. “Your skills are admirable; but, you place too little faith in nature.” You turned slightly towards Bloodhound, whose large goggles were focused on you. The metal charms that dangled around their helmet blew gently in the breeze, making no sound, oddly. It left you to wonder what the purpose was for those. In fact, you often wondered why the mask at all, whether the mysterious stranger needed it or wanted it. But, you would never dare ask something so private. 

You shook your head slightly, disagreeing with their statement. “Nature doesn’t want me to catch it,” you replied, scoffing a bit. Bloodhound seemed intrigued by your statement, an emotion that was not given away by the expression you couldn’t see, but the subtle way in which their stance changed. “To hunt and be hunted is nature. It wants you to earn the kill.” 

For a moment, Bloth stood and stared at you, tilting their head ever so slightly, as if to judge your reaction. You lowered your brow slightly, an expression of consideration. But, the mysterious Bloodhound didn’t want to hear a response from you before carrying on and disappearing into the woods, leaving you alone to continue your hunt. 

At that point, you were hungry and tired, frustrated with your circumstances and misfortune. Once again, you went home without a kill. As strange as it might have been, a part of you hoped Bloodhound would be there again, next time, like a raven’s watchful eye. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

For the civilized and wealthy, hunting could be viewed as barbaric and unnecessary, or maybe a sport to bring home a valiant piece to mount on the wall. But, for some, like you, it was a necessity. You hunted because you were raised to do so. Your kill would provide food and valuable resources the world might have long forgotten, but still desperately needed. 

There were people who would spend their gold on a fresh kill. A buck’s precious meat could feed you for weeks when properly preserved, and his antlers and hide would sell handsomely. Some of his organs were delicious and others were deadly, an ingredient for snake repellent, maybe. His bones could be ground up for the compost soil. 

For some, like you, that was survival. It was the very reason why you were out here tonight, hunting in the pouring rain, in a forest you had not yet familiarized yourself with, on a planet very distant from your homeland, all alone. The dark clouds had completely swallowed the moon, making it dark and dreary. While the rain wasn’t particularly heavy, it had been going on for hours, leaving the forest, and you, sopping wet. 

All you had to guide you was your senses and a pair of night vision goggles. They were heavy on your face, a bit fogged up from the cold, and not particularly good ones at that. But, it ensured you had a sense of where you were going and didn’t run face first into a tree. There was a compass on the HUD, which was essential, ensuring you weren’t running in circles. 

Early in your hunt, you had caught sight of an old buck. He had likely survived many summers. He was a survivor who had lived a long and prosperous life in these woods; you were content with taking his life, assuming you could catch him, that is. His hooves were more equipped for this weather than your boots. His fur was thick and well insulated, unlike your cargo pants. Your jacket was holding up decently, for the most part. 

You followed his trail and caught him standing still for a second too long. You reached to your back to pull out your bow. Just as you stepped forward, your foot caught nothing but air. In your advance, you failed to realize you were stepping over a steep hill into a ditch. You tried to catch yourself, but failed, and slid right into the mud. 

You slid along your heels and then onto your behind, completely soaking yourself in mud from the waist down. For a second, you laid there in the ditch, in disbelief of your misfortune. Clearly, these woods did not want you hunting in them. It was a sign from an almighty force of nature, perhaps. Or maybe the forest was haunted by a mighty deer who ensured you were never successful. 

“Fuck,” you deadpanned, reaching up to rip the night vision goggles off your face. Some water droplets had gotten through the rubber seal and was clinging to your eyelashes. You dragged the back of a gloved hand across your eyes, trying to wipe away the droplets. It was nearly impossible to make out anything in the darkness, but you could make out the faint outline of the trees above. 

“It is nice to see you again.” You didn’t even flinch this time. The voice was coming from above, not very far behind you. You could almost feel Bloodhound’s goggles staring into the back of your head, like two, big, watchful eyes. “I highly doubt that,” you replied, somewhat joking and somewhat bitter. They must have thought you incredibly pathetic, wallowing in the mud and getting rained on. But, if did make you wonder why Bloth was out here. 

“You are persistent and strong villed,” Bloodhound continued, their tone sounding almost endearing. Their accent was heavy, as always, distorted from beneath their mask, and strangely had you itching to hear more; but, you pushed those thoughts as far back as you possibly could. “I’m pleased to see you did not give up,” they finished. You slipped the night vision goggles back on and stood up, looking around for a way to get out of the trench. You caught sight of Bloodhound’s helmet and froze up, as if hypnotized by the sight. 

Bloth truly looked terrifying through the lenses of your goggles. The round eyes on the mask were beaming, staring at you and unblinking like a ghostly apparition. There was a yellow stripe down the center along the top of the head piece; the paint gave off a strange glow in the eyes of your night vision goggles, like the stripe along the back of a venomous snake. 

But, then, Bloodhound crouched down slightly and extended an arm, palm open and offering. It caught you off guard, a friendly gesture that almost didn’t match the heavy head piece and all-seeing eyes. Bloodhound’s helmet was the face of a deadly predator and skilled hunter, after all. Then again… perhaps, you were just tired and not thinking straight. You were standing in a ditch like an idiot and Bloth was simply trying to help. 

You took their hand with a little hesitation and Bloodhound tugged you up so you could lift a foot onto the edge of the trench and hoist yourself the rest of the way. When the soft mud began to give way and collapse, Bloodhound pulled you almost violently to ensure you wouldn’t fall back into the trench. Bloth’s strong jerk practically hoisted you the entire way out of the hole. You gasped, but followed through with your legs, perhaps a bit too much. 

Your body collided with Bloth, chest to chest, abdomen to abdomen. They let out a quiet grunt, a sound that was almost animalistic as it came out from that mask. Your chests were pressed together for the slightest second and you likely would have smacked into their helmet had you not maintained the slightest bit of control. Immediately, you jolted away from them. “Sorry!” you squeaked, sheepishly looking away. But, you could still feel those goggles staring you down. Bloth didn’t move away from you or seem at all discomforted by the situation. “Thank you for that,” you added on quickly. 

“No need,” Bloodhound replied, simply. A bit embarrassed, you decided to cut this meeting short, despite the desire to do the opposite. You were split in two, between wanting to leave and wanting to acquaint yourself further with the mysterious hunter. You wanted to hear more of that voice, always sounding so distant, even when they were standing right beside you. “I should-” you began, cut off when the wind blew a sudden and powerful gust that threatened to knock you over. 

You were feeling a little lightheaded and, under normal circumstances, would not have been perturbed by the wind. Yet, the storm, while not particularly intense, had picked up slightly. The rain was falling a little harder and the winds began to pick up, making the tree branches tremble and leaves rattle. You were only faintly aware of how wet your clothes had become. You locked your jaw tightly out of fear your teeth would began to chatter. However, despite being aware of that, you were oblivious to the fact that you were trembling slightly. 

“Felagi,” Bloth called out calmly and a bit firmly. Even though you had no idea what that meant, you knew they were trying to get your attention. When you looked up, through your goggles, you could see the rain droplets falling onto Bloodhound’s mask and catching like crystals on the lenses over their eyes. “Please, I worry for your health,” Bloodhound began. “Ve should take skjól - ah, shelter - from the rain.” 

“B-Bloth, I-” you began, mentally cursing yourself for the stutter. But, you also paused as a realization washed over you. You were a stranger to this person, curious of them, yet always hesitant to get close. It was the first time you had actually addressed them by a name, and it was the name that Bloodhound had used when introducing themselves to you. Perhaps, it was your imagination; but, you thought you saw their head tilt ever so slightly at the sound of their name on your lips. 

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finished, almost like you were out of breath. The slightly distorted voice of Bloodhound cut through the sounds of the trembling forest. “You are not,” came that heavy accent, low like they were making a special request. “I vish you to humble me this once.” You blinked slowly, staring at Bloodhound almost in disbelief. You… humble them…? How absurd… and a not single cell in your body could possibly say no. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Bloodhound guided you through the woods to a small cottage, it suddenly made sense why they were always around. Bloodhound lived here… well, maybe. You didn’t ask if this was a hideout for long weekend hunts or their actual home. Truly, it was none of your business, and gave you all the more intrigue over the mysterious Bloth Hundr. 

There was a generator in the back that powered the house and even a small well. When you stepped onto the porch, you could hear the makings of a security system, like quiet tickings in the door frame. Even through the rain, you could hear the subtle sounds, so quiet and obscure they likely would go unnoticed by others. 

Bloodhound looked up at you, a silent gesture that you took as a request for privacy. You nodded and turned away. There was a brief sound of shifting fabric, which you assumed was Bloodhound removing one of their gloves, likely to use their hand print to disable the security system. Sure enough, there was a faint noise of acceptance, the little sounds went quiet, and there was a rustle of fabric again as the glove went back on. 

As Bloth opened the door, you turned back around just in time to catch them making a gesture with their hands, inviting you inside. You removed your night vision goggles as you crossed the threshold. Outside, the cottage looked dismissive. It blended in well with the surroundings, overgrown with brush and trees and grass, with boulders pressed up against the corner. The cottage looked like it was built with as little disruption to the environment as possible. You regretted that you anticipated very little from the inside; however, it was cozy, warm, and oddly beautiful. 

The wood flooring was aligned flawlessly, each board clearly placed by hand. The rugs were thick, made from, likely, expensive furs and hand painted, reds and oranges and greens, all natural colors. The house was adorned with wood furniture and hand carved leather, scrolls aligned on the walls in texts you didn’t understand, paintings of ancient battleships and fearsome creatures. The entry area was on an upper level, and only then did you realize that the cottage was partially buried. 

“Did you build this?” you breathed as you leaned against the wood railing that acted as a barrier from the lower level. You tilted your head to look below and noticed the fireplace underneath, empty aside from some burnt and dull embers. Around the corner ahead, you could see through the archway to the kitchen and dining area. The table was clearly hand carved with a center piece that was undoubtedly deer antlers twisted around some dried flowers. 

The home had a very distinctive smell, like slightly burnt tea, subtle crisp leather and freshly chopped wood. It smelt like the wild and like home. “It’s amazing,” you added on, voice not the least bit hiding your awe. Bloodhound seemed almost sheepish, or maybe just dismissive, as they closed the door and entered their home, jumping over the edge to the lower level, rather than taking the stairs. You, however, took the stairs. 

“I-… yes,” they answered, almost hesitantly. “Your compliments honor me.” You smiled and began to follow, but then remembered your current state. “Uhm - Bloodhound, what about-” you began, breaking off as you pondered how to ask them. “The mud and water?” they asked, stopping for a moment and standing in the center of the living room. “I vorry not.” Bloth continued walking and you followed, still a little uneasy of the mess you were bringing into their home; but, Bloth truly did not seem perturbed. 

Bloodhound led you into the kitchen, where dozens of different, fresh herbs were strung up above the counters, drying. Their aromas wafted around the kitchen, making it smell heavenly. You gave Bloodhound space as they pulled out a teapot and set it on the stove. As the water heated, they chopped away at some of the herbs and arranged them in an infuser. 

“Please, seat vith me,” Bloth requested, not even turning back to look at you. You complied, taking a seat at the table nearby. Not even a minute passed and Bloth approached with two mugs, one in either hand. They looked like stoneware, light grey and brown with thick, wide handles. They offered one to you, hand around the cup with the handle facing you. You took it with a smile and uttered, “thank you.” 

You set the mug down on the table in front of you and slipped your gloves off. Bloodhound watched, almost intrigued, as you wrapped your hands around the mug, sighing pleasantly as the warmth comforted your cold, wet fingers. The mug was definitely designed for Bloodhound. It looked awfully large in your petite hands, whilst looking more appropriate in Bloodhound’s larger hands. 

You brought it up to your lips and blew gently against the top. The steam floated away like it was attempting to flee your mouth. It smelt strongly of herbs and faintly of spices, comforting but a bit too strong for your taste, not that you were complaining. You paused to look at Bloodhound, who was seated on your left. They unfastened a section on the mouth piece, which exposed no flesh, but allowed them to drink their tea via a straw. 

Your disappointment was immediately replaced by amazement as Bloodhound began sipping silently, even while their beverage was still oozing steam like a bubbling cauldron. They seemed unbothered by it, or perhaps that was exactly how they liked it. It made you all the more curious. Most definitely couldn’t handle something that hot. 

You lifted the mug to your lips again, blew on it some more, and risked a sip. Having been in the cold not so long ago and considering Bloth’s cabin was pretty cold, as well, you weren’t bothered by how warm it was; however, it was bitter, bitter enough to make you cough. 

Bloodhound made a noise that, despite being distorted by their head gear, sounded like a snicker. “Forgive me. I’ve been told my taste is unpleasant,” they explained, sounding only a little bit guilty, but otherwise amused. You shook your head, trying to hold back a grimace. “That’s not it,” you began, pausing to take another sip, just to confirm your suspicions. “The herbs are good; but, it’s overcooked.” 

Your statement was politely blunt, if such a thing was possible, yet you immediately regretted it. Here Bloodhound had invited you into their home and made you tea and the first thing you did was insult it. “Sorry, that was-” you began. Yet, Bloodhound shook their head a little, dismissive. Their response didn’t sound insulted in the slightest. “I’ve never been good at that,” they confessed, like they were speaking to a friend. 

“I could-” you stopped yourself, suddenly realizing how intrusive you were being. You took another sip, now accustomed to the bitterness without issue. When you paused and looked up, lips still close to the mug, Bloodhound was staring at you. Those large lenses were focused on yours and you could feel the eyes underneath gazing, lingering. You looked down at your beverage and took another sip. 

Bloth muttered your name, the first time you had heard it coming from beneath that mask. Immediately, you looked up, lips parted and cheeks a little red, though you were most certain it was the hot drink and not the manner in which Bloodhound spoke your name, heavy with their accent and so uniquely drawled out. “You could…?” they added on, gently coaxing you to finish your earlier statement. 

“…help you with the… brewing,” you explained, voice giving away embarrassment. Despite not being able to see their face, the subtle tilt of their head and setting their drink down gave away their slight intrigue. “As thanks for the skjól?” Bloth offered, in a manner that was almost like them offering you an excuse. You gawked at them, wondering if they were messing with you or… flirting? No… That was-… ridiculous. 

“Seems like a fair trade?” you replied, daring to smile a little bit. Bloodhound hummed, a low sound like an animal made when pleased. “I agree,” Bloth replied, raising their mug to continue drinking from it. You stayed for a little longer, discussing water temperature and boiling points until the night grew old and Bloodhound walked you back to the edge of the forest. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Félagi,” Bloodhound whispered, so quiet you almost thought you imagined it for a moment. When you turned to look at Bloth, you realized they were looking away from you. You followed their gaze to the exact thing you had been tracking all morning. At this angle, you could get a clear shot, most likely, a single arrow to end their life quickly and without pain. 

However, something startled the deer. Neither you nor Bloodhound made a sound; yet, the deer lifted his head, flicked his ears rapidly, and took off in a frantic sprint down the hillside and into the forest. You couldn’t hold back a soft sigh, a sound almost like a grunt, of disappointment. “I’m telling you, Hound,” you began, softly. “These woods don’t approve of me.” It was a bit of a joke; but, it kind of wasn’t. 

Bloodhound had tried to soothe your tattered ego by telling you that these woods were challenging even for the most skilled of hunters. The deer that grazed here, had thousands of generations here, were practically one with the forest. Their fur might as well have been the grass, their antlers the branches, and their hooves the soil… Well, that was how Bloth put it, anyway. Regardless of whether you needed the help or not, you gladly accepted Bloodhound’s offer to join you on your next hunt. 

“The Allfather always blesses patience,” Bloth replied, voice poetic as they spoke of their god. You frowned at them and noticed the subtle tilt of their head as they looked at you in confusion. “Thanks, but-… I can’t afford to go home empty handed,” you confessed, a bit firmly. “-and I doubt the Allfather donates to charity.” 

You slid your bow down your torso so the curve rested against your back and the wire pressed down the center of your abdomen. You moved carefully out of the brush where you had been sneaking and slid down the hill into the clearing to check the deer’s tracks. You heard the sound of Bloodhound walking behind you. 

“You should head home, Hound,” you suggested, gently. You knelt down in the dirt to examine the tracks, and to give yourself a reason to not look into the eyes of that helmet. “Is there a reason?” they asked, almost carefully. “You had an Apex match yesterday. You’re tired… I know you are,” you explained, still avoiding Bloth’s gaze, though you could feel them staring at the back of your head. “Please, go home and rest. I got this.” 

"Félagi, I am quite vell. You vorry nothing,” Bloth replied. Their voice surprised you. Perhaps, you expected Bloodhound to be the slightest bit defensive; however, they were nothing of the sort. Their response was gentle, calm, almost happy over your concern. “I worry that you’re exhausting yourself for my sake,” you explained, standing up properly and finally looking into the lenses of Bloth’s mask. 

“Besides, what was it you said this morning…? ‘Allfather blesses us today’… and you said that was just-…something you felt. Well, right now, I feel that I can do this and you need rest.” With that, Bloodhound made a small noise, almost like a laugh that melted into a sigh, brief and quiet, a huff distorted by their helmet. 

“…þrjóskur,” Bloth mumbled, a word that you didn’t recognize, in a tone that almost disbelieving, but teasing. “Then, next time, ve vill shed bloth together. For now, I vill rest, as you vish.” While a part of you felt loneliness without Bloodhound’s presence, watching them away gave you some relief. Whilst you became companions, you became familiar with the way Bloodhound carried themselves, with a sort of power that was almost frightening. Today, they were lacking in that power. Yesterday’s match, you had witnessed, was a near loss, a very hard earned victory. You had no doubt that they were exhausted. So, you carried on alone, feeling confident by Bloth’s words. 

As the hours dragged on and the sun began to sink into the earth, your confidence also shrunk, and your frustration grew every more present. Just as the night began to set in, the sun casting pinks and purples over the sky, you caught sight of the deer you had been seeking. Holding your breath, you pulled back an arrow, aimed, and- 

Something landed on your prey before your arrow left the bow. A large form with shifting skin that blended in with its surroundings, until it moved and became something almost ethereal. Its fur returned to its normal color as it ended the life of its prey, dragging it down to the ground where it died in silent and brief agony. The green grassy texture faded into the black, liquid ebony color it naturally possessed. 

You froze and stared, wide eyed and mouth hanging open in shock, as a six legged panther dug its fangs into the deers neck, ending its life in a single jaw clench. Spotted panthers were rare and most didn’t live longer than five years. They were a rare breed of wild cat that never stopped growing, formidable due to their color changing fur and unchangeable senses. This one, almost the same size as the deer, with its mouth large enough to nearly completely envelope the deer’s neck, could easily have been ten years old. 

For a moment, you couldn’t move, struck by fear of what you were facing. You could easily scare off a normal sized panther. They weren’t exactly fond of humans, after all. This one, however, with its sheer size and raw power, and considering how long it had lived, wouldn’t be afraid of you. All you could do was back away carefully… that is, if the beast hadn’t looked up. 

It’s eyes, like two shimmering jasper gemstones, locked with yours. It was an intense stare, the stare of two hunters who contemplated if they should part ways or do battle. You still had your bow tight in your grasp, arrow ready to fire, but made no move to do so. The panther still had its jaws around the deer’s neck, holding it tightly, with blood dripping down its jaw. 

Those instincts were humming loudly in your head: fight or flight. You doubted you could take such a beast. It’s mouth could probably envelope your entire skull and one paw with almost bigger than your face. It would have your intestines drooping out of your gut in seconds. But, could you even outrun such a creature? With long, nimble legs and a powerful, lengthy torso… No. Definitely not. 

The panther dropped its prey and, with fangs and whiskers dripping with blood, hissed at you, a clear and direct challenge. You released your arrow, hoping it would pierce the panther on the center of its skull and immediately end this duel. Alas, the panther flinched and the arrow struck its shoulder. While it cried, you reached for another arrow. Just as you drew it back along the bow, the panther lunched for you. 

You gasped, a bellowing wail of a shout, and jumped out of the way. With its shoulder injured, the panther was slow to extent its reach. It’s clawed paw struck the ground as you rolled away. You pulled up and released an arrow in a blind furry, this time aiming for its heart. Another lightning quick movement and your arrow did strike at its chest. Unfortunately, the panther didn’t stop. 

You tumbled back into the dirt as it lunged for you, overwhelmed by the reality that this was how you were going to die. Only, something stopped the panther before it could reach you. A body collided with the beast and sent it crashing to the ground. The two forms rolled and wrestled in the grass for a second before separating. You gawked in disbelief as Bloodhound rose to their feet. 

They barely had a chance to react before the panther was standing and pouncing, making a deadly strike towards them. A large clawed paw dragged down Bloth’s headgear, leaving behind an impressive scratch in the metal and leather. Whilst that claw was unsuccessful, the beast’s fangs found refuge in Bloodhound’s less armored shoulder. If not for their reflexes, the panther might have gotten another chance to strike; however, with their soft underbelly less defended, Bloodhound quickly drew a blade, and had the panther filleted in a mere heartbeat. 

As the two separated again, they staggered around, the beast still defensive and erect, as though ready to strike, and Bloodhound still gripping the blade, their other arm lifted defensively. Clothes were tattered and blood flowed like a gushing geyser bursting from Bloodhound’s shoulder. The cat’s midsection was wide open and emptying buckets of blood. The cat collapsed… and so did Bloodhound. 

Time seemed to stop as you watched Bloth fall in slow motion, crumbling to the ground, flat on their front, body limp. You ran over, clawing at your jacket and practically ripping it off your body. You dropped your bow carelessly on the ground and threw your arrow pouch away, as well. You realized, as you did your best to get your jacket wrapped tightly around Bloth’s wounds, that you were frantic. Tears were falling heavily down your cheeks in thick streams and you were babbling on senselessly. 

"Bloodhound, please hold on - oh my god - please - please - please - this is all my fault - don’t give up - I got you - I got - I - I - Blood, please - please - say something - I need to - get - get you home - oh god - please, Bloodhound, say - say something…” It was almost impossible to lift Bloodhound. They were much larger than you and weighed down by that heavy helmet. However, fueled by adrenaline and fear, you managed to lift them onto your back. “Oh fuck - fuck! Where’s the cabin!” you cried, hopeless as to which direction to drag them. 

A sound caught your attention, echoing around you like a distant, yet also close, whisper: the coo of a raven. You looked up into the trees and saw the shiny black feathers glowing in the moonlight and the shiny tip of a black beak. The raven’s eyes were like two glossy marbles reflecting the sight it was witnessing. It was staring at you, judging, witnessing… and, you realized… guiding. It cooed again and hopped onto a nearby branch, continuing to stare down at you. 

Bloodhound’s raven…? Your tears dried sticky on your cheeks, mixing with sweat and some of Bloodhound’s blood, as you carried them, guided by the raven in the trees above. It cooed every so often, keeping its eyes on you to ensure you were following the path it set before you. Eventually, you were approaching Bloth’s cabin, but now presented with a new dilemma. 

“S-sorry, Blood,” you panted, carefully sliding Bloth off your back and onto your side, their weight enough to nearly drag you to the ground. You hastily removed a glove off Bloth’s dominant hand and, whilst gripping their wrist, pressed their palm against the security device beside the door. It was discreet; but, you could make out the tiny etchings that made up the sensor. It scanned, clicked, and went quiet as it accepted Bloodhound’s fingerprints. 

Pushed to the brink of exhaustion, you practically dragged Bloodhound inside, unable to lift them up again. You didn’t dare risk trying to get them to the lower level and instead set Bloth delicately on a bench that was near the door - well, as delicately as you possibly could. 

You hurled yourself onto the lower level, prepared to search the house for medical supplies; however, the raven’s coo could be heard again and you realized it had followed you inside and was perched up on one of the beams, tilting its head down to point down one of the hallways. As you stepped through, you felt the swoowsh of the crow flying over your head. It entered one of the rooms, beckoning to you with another call, and you followed, entering a room that you immediately realized this was- 

-Bloodhound’s bedroom. 

You tried not to think about it: about the large bed covered in thick blankets, the desk smothered in paper with handwriting all over it, the little potted plants along the window seal, the small radio on the bedside table, a faint, musky scent that could only belong to a person and their space. The raven was cooing at you again. It had landed on a little box and was pecking gently at it to make sure you got the message: a first aid kit. 

You gasped, hastily grabbed it, and ran out of Bloodhound’s bedroom and back to where you left them. A part of you felt guilty as you removed your blood soaked jacket and then peeled away at their clothes, exposing skin that they always kept well hidden; however, when you exposed the gaping wound, you didn’t feel quite as guilty over that, but far more guilty for another reason. 

The cat’s fangs left a wound that looked like it had been done by a chainsaw. Skin, flesh, and muscle was torn open and gaping. You knew that it needed to be cauterized. There was simply no other way to close a wound this big, unless you could find a way to have them air lifted to a hospital. You dug out sterile gauze from the first aid kit and shoved it into Bloodhound’s wound to at least lessen the bleeding. Even if you could radio paramedics, what was the likelihood of them making it here in time? 

Panting, you searched the first aid kit, breathing a relieved sigh to see there was a cauterizing kit. You opened it, careful not to remove the sterile end cover and switched it to on. It was sizzling a mere seconds later. You reached over Bloodhound again to remove the sterile gauze, now drenched in their blood. However, a hand shot out and wrapped around your throat. 

You tensed, gasping as Bloodhound held you in a firm grip. Their grip wasn’t limiting your oxygen, but so firm it prevented you from moving an inch. Whether intentional or not, it was a raw display of power. With minimal effort, Bloodhound could have you gasping for air, convulsing as you tried to cling to life. It was the hand you used to unlock the security system, ungloved. Their skin was rough and burning hot. You could feel the tremble of their muscles, their palm against your adam’s apple as you nervously swallowed, callouses and the rough edges of scars. 

When you looked up from Bloth’s wounds to their masked face, you stared into the empty eyes of those goggles, that which was unconveying of any emotions. You could feel their eyes watching you from beneath the mask, soaking in your expression of fear. Then, suddenly, Bloodhound exhaled your name, heavy and apologetic. Their hand unclenched from around your throat, but remained, caressing the side of your neck for a mere moment, thumb sliding along your jawline, before finally dropping to their side. 

“Félagi, I’m so sorry-” they began, panting between their words. As they spoke, you shook your head, expressing there was no need for an apology. You interrupted what was likely going to be an explanation, knowing there was no time for that. You already forgave them. “Bloth, I need to cauterize your wound,” you explained, hastily removing the blood stained gauze. They nodded in understanding, something you didn’t expect. “I fnn-.. vill ah-assist you,” Bloodhound breathed, leaning up into a seated position. 

“What?” you shrieked. “How - you can’t be serious - lay back down. I can-” This time, Bloth interrupted you. “I have d-one this alone. It will - will be easier with your-… hjálp,” they explained, accent heavier than normal and words a bit slurred. Bloth pulled away at their clothes until the wound was more properly exposed. The tubes on their mask were undone next and off came the mouth piece, just as they had before when sharing tea with you. 

You lifted the red hot iron and breathed, “ready?” They nodded enthusiastically and you began. Unsurprisingly, Bloodhound let out a scream. Whilst you expected it, it still caught you off guard. Their cries of anguish rattled you to your very core and you realized you were crying again. You paused and Bloodhound’s hand covered yours and pressed the rod back against their searing flesh. “Finish, please finish,” they pleaded and you wondered if Bloodhound, too, was sobbing underneath their mask. 

Together, you sealed every inch of the wound. Bloodhound, who you always saw as so fierce, an undefeated warrior on the battlefield, legend of the Apex Games, screamed and whaled through the entire ordeal, to the point that their voice cracked and they trembled. Yet, not once did they try to stop you or flinch away. It broke your heart. What felt like grueling hours, despite only being a few minutes, passed and you were finally done. 

You shut off the device and dropped it back onto its heat proof container, panting like you had just run a marathon. “Can you walk?” you asked, sniffling. “Let’s get you to bed.” You helped Bloodhound shift around so they were seated on the bench, boots touching the floor.“Félagi,” Bloth exhaled sadly, reaching up to slide their thumb against your cheeks, wiping away tears. You shook your head, shying away from their touch, and boldly lied, “just sweat.” It didn’t matter if they believed you or not: you were getting them to their bed. 

It took some work getting Bloodhound, who was clearly disoriented and dehydrated, down the latter and to the lower level. Once there, with one arm over your shoulder, you helped them stagger their way to their room. Bloodhound didn’t question how you knew which room was theirs, just panted and let you support a good chunk of their weight. 

After you laid them in bed, you proceeded to exit before Bloth could stop you. “Gonna get you water,” you explained hastily and all but sprinted out of their bedroom. In the kitchen, for a moment, you hunched over the sink and sobbed, ugly crying that involved fat tears and an oozing nose. You had been bottling that up and needed a moment to get it out before you could go back. For a hot minute, you cried like a baby. 

You ran the sink for a moment to splash cold water over your face, and realized that Bloth could use a cool off - in fact, Bloth could actually use medication. Shit. You partially filled a mug with some cold water from the drinking dispenser and walked back over, wondering if they had medication here for such a thing. When you returned to the bedroom, Bloth was leaning up on their bed, dead silent and unmoving. You froze up in the doorway and stared at them. 

“Bloodhound,” you wept, nearly spilling the water as you ran over. They slowly turned their head to look at you and you sighed a breath of relief. “I’ll look away,” you promised as Bloth carefully took the cup from your hand. You sat down at the edge of the bed and turned away, and heard the sound of their mask unraveling, a light thump and then another and another as pieces of it landed on the bed, and then hasty gulping. 

“I’m so sorry,” you began, cupping your hands in your lap and squeezing them together, almost painfully so. You were hunched over, staring down at your trembling hands. “I almost got you killed - this - this is all my fault.” Bloodhound spoke and, for the first time, you heard them without a mask distorting their voice. It was clear, deep and distinguishable, so unforgettable and almost spooky, even. “If I vasn’t there, you vould have died…” 

You puffed out a short breath, a bit overwhelmed by hearing their voice unbroken by a mask. “But… you almost died.” Bloodhound made a sound, something like a scoff, but softer, a puff of air breathed through their nose and a smile. “I’ve been through vorse… far vorse, and I had to do it alone those times,” they spoke, as if their suffering was a fond memory. “The place between life and death is vhere I feel most alive…” 

For some reason, that confession, which Bloodhound had never shied away from admitting before, brought a blush to your cheeks. “Please, don’t look,” Bloth requested, softly, yet firmly, almost less of a request and more of a command. You said nothing, but kept still and felt the bed shift slightly, heard a rustle of fabric; then, you felt what was undeniably Bloth’s head pressing against the back of yours, a movement that felt like nuzzling, and it made your heart beat so rapidly, you could feel it against the skin on your chest like a beating drum. 

“I’m glad you are safe,” they mumbled, voice close and breath fluttering against your hair. An ungloved hand reached around to your lap and fell over yours, the same that had wrapped around your throat earlier. You looked down and was surprised by their sun kissed skin, despite it so frequently being covered. It made you wonder how often Bloth lived their life outside their suit. Their hand enveloped yours and gently squeezed, and you returned the gesture with a smile. 

Their scars were concerning: several across the back of their knuckles, a huge gash that left an indent on their thumb and another on their index finger, callouses along the pads of their fingers, some wrinkles around their digits. But, you weren’t the least bit bothered. It left you all the more curious. “I’m glad you’re safe, too,” you repeated. For a moment, that was how you sat, without another word spoken, listening to Bloodhound’s quiet breathing and relishing the feel of their exhales tickle the hair that ran down the back of your neck. 

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You took a deep and steady inhale as you drew your arrow back, using the strength in your torso to hold it against the powerful tension of the bow’s taut string. You held your breath as you focused your sights on the target in front of you, pointing the arrowhead along the path you set for it, a tidbit higher than where you wanted it to land. You were steady, careful, waiting for the moment that you were perfectly aligned. 

The bow snapped back into place as you let go, flinging the arrow through the air with great speed. It was almost dead silent as it shot through the air. The speared tip hit your target directly. The deer’s cries could be heard echoing around the trees. Birds scattered in a blind fury to get away from whatever caused the deer’s sudden outburst. It took a few painful steps in a feeble attempt at escape before collapsing in a noisy heap. You wasted no time rising to your feet, knowing the job wasn’t over yet. There was one thing left to do, a very important thing your father always insisted on when you hunted. 

In nature, not all life was equal, but all life was precious and valuable. Regardless of your intentions, you had thanks to give. You approached the deer’s trembling form with haste. You could hear Bloodhound’s footsteps, quiet as a leaf landing on grass, following behind you. They stood nearby, watching with curious eyes to how you intended to finish this. What you did was certainly not what they expected. 

You could see the frightened, large brown beads that were the deer’s eyes, glistening in the sunlight. The deer made a noise of fear when it saw you approach and jerked as if it had the strength to endure the pain and rise to its feet. You knelt down beside it, briefly overwhelmed by its massive size. Its antlers were digging into the dirt, long legs powerful enough to end your life with a single kick, massive chest heaving up and down like a shifting mountain. 

You smoothed a hand over the deer’s neck, a bit surprised by how soft its green fur was, whispering hushing sounds to quiet its crying. “In your suffering, you don’t understand. But, you must know,” you began, drawing a blade from a sheath against your belt. Behind you, Bloodhound tilted their head slightly, listening intently as you spoke. “I am grateful for your sacrifice. Thank you for all you have given. Rest well in what world follows this…” 

Like a knife through butter, you slid your blade directly into the deer’s heart, immediately silencing it, a smooth and clean kill. Barely a second passed before the deer went still, its life ending in a quiet moment. Though you couldn’t see, Bloodhound watched with endearing eyes, a bit surprised by what felt like a prayer in this creature’s passing. 

They couldn’t stop themselves from breathing out a quiet, “a beautiful kill.” You wiped the bloodied knife on the nearby grass and tucked it back into its sheath before standing. “It’s just…” you began, turning back to Bloodhound a bit nervously. As usual, those lenses were staring you down, unblinking and almost hypnotic. 

Bloodhound’s eyes couldn’t give away their emotion, but their body language was something you had grown familiar with. They appeared relaxed, focused on you. “My father - he, well, taught me to give respect to our kills - and, I did mean it. This guy will provide a lot of food and his hide will cover my rent for at least three months…” You stopped your babbling, realizing an Apex Legend like Bloodhound likely didn’t have these concerns. 

You knelt down again and removed your backpack, setting it in the grass in front of you. You definitely couldn’t carry the deer, but you had a contraption that would allow you to drag it with ease. You pulled it out of your bag and began unraveling it. Despite your gaze focused on setting up the contraption, you heard and felt Bloodhound kneel beside you. “Vould you like me to…?” they offered gently, a gloved hand palm up in a gesture of offering. 

You politely ignored Bloth’s hand. “It’s my kill: I’ll take care of it. I got this,” you replied, a bit firm but trying desperately not to be rude. Bloodhound seemed to understand and stepped back to give you room. They watched in silence, thoughts running wild in their silence while you worked. They understood independence well: the value of it, the need for it, the desire to obtain it. Yet, for some reason, they longed to free you from that burden, all while enamored by you taking charge in it. 

This - loading the deer’s corpse onto a carrier - oddly enough, was the easy part, merely because your father always made you do this. He would stand and watch while you struggled, offering advice, tricks to make it easier. At one point in time, you hated him for it. It was a huge pain, after all, especially when you were a little girl. But, with time, you realized it was for the best. Now, after having struggled through it so many times, it was fairly easy. 

“May I accompany you?” Bloodhound asked, in a way that almost sounded as though they were in the way. You stood still for a moment and stared at their mask, into the expressionless goggles, a bit surprised by the request. “O-of course…” The way back was a long way, now that you had to move slowly with a massive weight to drag along. You and Bloth spoke very little; and, yet, you felt closer to them than you ever had been. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bloodhound stared at you shamelessly as you slowly lifted the mug to your lips and took a sip. You could distinctively make out each element of the concoction: a few different herbs and even some dried lemon… and melted honey. It went down smooth and was refreshing and… it wasn’t burnt this time. 

When you lowered the mug, you were met with Bloodhound’s mask staring you down. You nearly choked on your tea as you chuckled. You set the mug down and coughed a little in spurts of gentle laughter, smiling at them. You covered your mouth with the back of your hand for a moment as you tried to calm yourself. “It’s really good, Bloth,” you giggled. Bloodhound whipped their head away, as if suddenly aware of their staring and embarrassed by it. 

“Thank you,” they whispered back. You lifted the mug to drink some more. The shack was mostly silent, if not for the sound of rain tapping gently on the roof and your occasional sips. Bloodhound’s raven was perched in the living room. There was a petrified tree with bark as smooth as marble, sticking out of a planter. Its branches towered into the beams above, making both a great piece of decoration and comfortable place for the majestic bird to perch. 

Sitting in the kitchen, you could hear the fireplace gently crackling from the living room. There was a rumble as thunder echoed around the cabin. Occasionally, the walls would creak, a natural occurrence as the home grounded itself into the foundation beneath. You set the mug down and stared at it, gently tapping your nails against the sides. 

Somehow, this had become the place you always went after a failed hunt: Bloodhound’s cabin. They would invite you in, let you warm your shoes by the hearth, shared leftovers from last night’s supper - one might not look at Bloodhound and assume they were a good cook, but you were honest when you said you never tasted a more delicious seared deer. 

Most of the time, you spoke and Bloodhound listened. You talked about your family, how you ended up, why you relied on hunting to make ends meet. You talked about a life you left behind, but couldn’t quite let go of, and now a new life you wanted to leave behind. Sometimes, Bloodhound talked about their most memorable hunts, very little about the Apex Games: you were curious, but didn’t ask why. 

In the corner of your eye, you could see Bloodhound was looking at you again. You hesitated to meet their gaze. You knew so little about Bloth Hundr beyond what you had experienced in these woods. You knew they were fearless, they were kind and honorable, they were far better to you than you had experienced from anyone in a long time. They made you feel-… longing. 

In the middle of the day, it left you feeling an empty loneliness. You wanted to feel their eyes on your back, their hand graze your shoulder. You wanted to feel the protective weight that came with being in Bloodhound’s presence. Sometimes, it kept you up at night, writhing between the sheets with your own hands and something artificial while you imagined something real. You thought about that voice whispering in your ear, words you didn’t know the meaning to, whilst they laid claim to your body. 

Your eyes had yet to see what was under that mask, but your heart had. Love… lust… somewhere in between. But, you couldn’t-… How could you? Bloodhound was a hunter, a warrior, that dominated all who challenged them. They were like a force of nature that couldn’t be stopped. Did they even have desires like that? You didn’t know Bloodhound enough to make such an assumption. 

You pushed those thoughts aside and met Bloodhound’s gaze. It seemed they had been waiting for your attention, for as soon as your eyes fell upon the lifeless lenses on their mask, they began to speak. “A group of crows is called a murder…” they began, and your lip twitched into a small smile as they began to tell you a story. 

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When you came home from work on Friday night, you most certainly didn’t expect to see a very familiar form waiting outside your door. There was something ethereal about the experience, to see that powerful form and daunting face awaiting your presence. To be honest, for a moment, you gawked at them with your mouth hanging open in disbelief. You would have immediately assumed it was a prank, someone in cosplay; however, when they lifted their head and met your gaze, you knew it was them. 

You had feasted your eyes upon Bloth’s mask countless times. You could easily recognize the distinctive metal, where the paint was chipped, how the lenses blurred the space beneath it, count each scratch and even knew the source of one of them, seeing as you were a witness. There was a certain weight to the charms that dangled around the upper bevel: you knew the way they danced in the breeze. No cosplayer could create something authentic enough to replicate it. 

You knew it was Bloth Hundr standing before you, outside your house, waiting for you, with a stance of patience: their legs shoulder length apart, hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, and arms straight, and head bowed down slightly. 

They met your stare with silence and you almost wondered if, perhaps, they regretted coming here. You didn’t have a single question as to how they found you. They didn’t call themselves Bloodhound for no reason: they could find anyone, anywhere, and your humble abode was no exception. It wasn’t the how that concerned you, but the why. 

“Bloth?” you called out to them gently as you approached and they watched you do so. Bloodhound shifted their stance slightly as if suddenly knocked out of a trance. There was something heavy in the air, a weight that wasn’t present the other times you two were together. It was different than when it was in the woods, when it was just the two of you, alone with nature and without the chance of others seeing you. 

Boodhound had a reputation for being very private. With the exception of the Apex games, no one really saw them out in public, and that included you… until, now, that is. Was that why they were uncomfortable? Bloodhound was undoubtedly the reclusive type. Had they grown uneasy waiting for you? 

“Do you want to come inside?” you suggested. It seemed to break whatever unease was present, for they nodded in a matter almost quite eager. “Felagi,” Bloodhound replied, their tone expressing their gratitude. You unlocked your front door and stepped in, holding it open so Bloodhound could follow behind you. 

They weren’t wearing their Apex uniform today, with the exception of their headgear, of course. It was something casual: faded brown cargo pants that were worn in the knees, tucked into ankle high, dark grey boots, and a thick jacket that blended in well with the helmet’s seams along the neck. As always, not an inch of skin was showing. 

“Sorry. It’s not as cozy as your place,” you apologized as you set your bag down. It was then that you realized Bloodhound hadn’t really looked around at all, but had been focused on you. After you spoke, Bloth looked around a bit, almost as if obligated to do so, and then responded fondly, “it is, in a vay.” 

You were tempted to outright ask why they had stopped by, not that you were the least bit bothered by it. Simply put, it was bizarre: maybe merely because you never thought this would actually happen. But, standing there, observing Bloodhound’s nervous posture, a different concern arose. “Is everything alright?” you asked,. 

You couldn’t see Bloth’s expression; but, you could see the subtle way their head twitched at that question, and it was just as good as seeing their face. “I - forgive me,” they suddenly began. “Nothing is vong - ah - I vished to ask… Tomorrow, vud you join me on the hunt?” 

It seemed strange to you that Bloth came all this way to ask you that. You had hunted together before, you felt safe in their presence and welcome in their home. It wasn’t as though they were requesting anything new. “Of course,” you gasped out, your voice giving away your surprise. “You don’t have to ask…” 

Bloodhound nodded and lifted a hand to adjust their jacket, a seemingly pointless act. They made a sound, the beginning of a sentence, but you were quick to interrupt them. “Did you want to stay for dinner?” you asked, voice a little too eager for your liking. But, it was too late. “If-if you want, I mean-” 

“Yes,” Bloth responded, practically blurting it out before you could go on a tangent. To hide your blush, you hastily scurried into the kitchen and made yourself busy. It probably should have been awkward after that. But, somehow, it wasn’t. Bloodhound didn’t look like they belonged here, in this ordinary, modern dwelling, with their headgear and rugged clothing. It was almost comical, in a way. You could only imagine how stressful this was… and it meant the world to you. 

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As promised, you returned to the woods the next morning, anticipating another regular hunt with Bloodhound. The beautiful crow, Muninn, had found you before they had, their coos likely leading them like a beacon. When Bloth came out of the brush, you immediately noticed something was different. They were still wearing their headgear, but they were wearing it loosely, improperly. The seams were exposed, rather than tucked into their jacket. The oxygen tube was unhinged and hanging loosely around their neck. 

Your first thought was that something was wrong and you approached Bloth with worried eyes. They lifted their hands in a gesture that requested you ease your fears, and you realized Bloodhound wasn’t wearing gloves. Their hands were tanned and scared, nails trimmed short and knuckles bruised. “I must confess,” Bloth began. “I requested you accompany me because-… I vanted to hunt with you as-… as I do when I am alone.” 

You gawked at Bloodhound, almost in disbelief at what they were saying. “I-… Blood, are you sure?” you whispered, for fear they felt obligated to do so. Bloth didn’t say anything, but nodded. For a moment, they stood still, lifeless lenses focused on you intently, as if reading your face. Then, standing in the clearing, with the sun beating down on them, Bloodhound cupped the edge of their headgear, and carefully lifted it off their head. 

You could have slapped yourself for the little noise that escaped you, the quietest, slightest bit of a gasp. Bloodhound’s helmet lifted and exposed the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

His skin had been kissed by the sun and was riddled with the remnants of old battles. He had many scars, an especially prominent one that left a trench running vertically down his jaw, stopping halfway down the side of his neck. A few small scars left imprints along the corner of his lip and a few looked like scratches down his left brow. His left ear looked like it had nearly been torn off, with a bit of the upper cartilage missing. 

There was a splash of faint freckles over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, blending in with his tanned skin. His hair, dirty blonde locks that were heavy and thick, was partially pulled back in an upper ponytail, though a few strands had fallen loose and dangled around his cheeks. His beard was short and a bit messy, with some gray hairs present. You could even see a few grays tucked back in his half updo. 

You only had a moment to take all that in before your gaze became fixated on Bloodhound’s eyes, transfixed on the orbs you had always stared at but never truly saw, the eyes that always stared at you whilst you could never quite look back. They were milky with the faintest hue of amber, like two pearls glistening on his face, underneath thick brows. 

“Bloth, are you blind?” you asked, knowing full well the surprise and concern present in your voice, and likely written all over your face. It left you puzzled more so than concerned. “Not… entirely,” he replied, a bit hesitantly. Bloodhound made a nervous smile, eyes still fixated on yours, staring too bluntly into your eyes to be unseeing. He looked at you as though he was looking at you for the first time. 

“I can see the color of your skin, the color of your hair - your eyes… But, I can’t see where Muninn is perched above us. I regret that I couldn’t find you in a crowd vith just my eyes…” You stared in amazement as Bloodhound spoke, almost unbelieving of his explanation. “I can feel you standing there. If that… is right vay to explain? I-… ‘Feel’ is the best vord I have, but it’s vong… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain…” 

You shook your head, effectively tearing your eyes away from Bloodhound’s face. “It’s okay - you don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t pry,” you apologized, putting in effort to avoid staring, though you could feel Bloodhound was still staring at you. “It is strange. I know,” he replied in understanding. “Does is discomfort you?” 

Caught off guard by that question, you whipped your head back to look at Bloodhound, who had an expression of complete innocence. You lips partly slightly, amazed at the raw power of this person, who had such a gentle face. Bloth was known for being ruthless on the battlefield, a hunter with no limitation, that conquered all who challenged them. Yet… such a person… had the kindest eyes. 

“No,” you replied, firmly, almost harshly. “It means so much - that you trust me enough to show me your face.” Bloodhound smiled again, a smile that brought you ease. “Vhen I am alone, I hunt vithout it,” he explained, looking down at the headgear he was cradling in his hands. “But… I fear my abilities vithout are lacking. On the battlefield, I may fall. I am… perhaps, vain, as vell.” Your face expressed confusion, but Bloodhound couldn’t properly see it when he looked back up at you. 

“How so?” you asked. The corner of Bloodhound’s lip twitched into a very subtle smirk. “I vanted to choose the face that the fallen vud last see…” Bloodhound lifted his mask slightly and ran a hand over the front affectionately. He stared down at the blurry sight of his headgear with a fondness, as though he was looking at someone who wasn’t him. “Something that others vill see and think of the hunter the gods have sent… Not just a man that enjoys the hunt.” 

There was something strangely poetic about Bloth’s words, despite the twisted nature behind it. Those who fell in the Apex games would rise again, as was the design of the battlefield. Yet, it was still bloodshed, it was still humans killing each other brutally. For you, there was little gap between the man you were looking at and the mask in his hands. Yet… you weren’t afraid, or disgusted, or the least bit perturbed. You wanted to see how Bloodhound hunted with their own eyes, rather than through the veil of a mask


	2. The Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!

“If you are ever afraid, felagi, speak it…”

You adjusted your bow a bit, where it rested against your back, and shifted your gaze to Bloodhound, who was kneeling in the dirt nearby, his eyes focused on the path ahead. He stood upright and looked towards you, white eyes looking with a sort of unclear focus, in the direction of your face, but not quite landing on your eyes. He blinked slowly and long, fawn colored lashes fanned over his cloudy eyes.

For a moment, you stared at Bloodhound, tightening your lips to ensure they wouldn’t hang agape. His expression was soft, yet serious, unwavering. His tone was strict, firm, and so different from any way he had spoken to you before. It was the sort of voice spoken between comrades in their darkest hour, not basking in the bright sun of the day, as you both were now. You were used to hearing Bloodhound speak muffled. It felt strange to hear his lips uncovered. It was strange seeing his eyes staring at you, and not the round lenses of his mask. It was strange to see the wind tousle his hair and not the chimes that dangled off his helmet.

It was difficult to not get distracted every time you looked at him. You wanted to stare, to make sure every detail was engraved in your mind: to see the way he looked when he smiled, to catch the sight of his face wrinkling with laughter, to see narrowed eyes and tight lips as he concentrated on the hunt. But, that wasn’t what you were here for. Bloth didn’t invite you to gawk at him like an idiot: you were here to hunt.

“Blood, what are we hunting?” you asked, silently wondering if it would give clarity to Bloodhound’s demeanor. Muninn fluttered down from the branches above and landed gracefully on Bloth’s back. The sudden movement startled you a bit, though Bloodhound seemed not at all bothered, as if he felt her approaching. With careful steps, she maneuvered around to perch on his wide shoulder.

“Kamaerah,” he replied, accent particularly heavy, as though he struggled to pronounce this word. “Before yesterday, I intended to go alone - not out of mistrust, but because I vorried this vas too dangerous…” There was a flash of concern in Bloth’s crystalline eyes. But, just like that, it was gone, replaced with a passion and confidence you imagined he wore at all times, on the battlefield, beneath the mask. Maybe it was silly; but, you felt honored to blessed with such a sight.

“No one but us hunts here,” he explained, lifting a hand to gently smooth over Muninn’s feathers, to put emphasis on who he was talking about. She trembled softly with what looked like delight. “It vas vhy seeing you surprised me. I imagined you didn’t know of the danger here…” At that, the tantalizing coat of the panther flashed through your mind, along with the sight of Bloodhound bleeding against your back while you carried him home.

“I-… No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Bloth. You paid the price for my ignorance,” you breathed, tongue feeling heavy with the guilt behind your words. Bloodhound, however, dismissed your apology with a gentle shake of the head and the faintest smile. “Not the panther. Dangerous, yes, but… not quite like vhat ve hunt today.” Bloodhound stood up and you promptly followed. He walked ahead slightly and you waited, watching. “It’s tracks are… unpredictable, scent unforgettable, a creature that is always unique…”

Even with the mask off, Bloodhound was mysterious and always out of reach, in a manner of which you couldn’t quite explain. Sure, you could reach out and touch him, but would he feel it? Not your skin or the heat of your palm, but the meaning behind the action? Would he feel your admiration and longing? You realized, then, that you were staring again, staring at him. It was hard not to, Bloodhound was-… beautiful. So, you stepped ahead of Bloth, passing him and Munnin so you could get ahead on the trail and practically sink your knees in the dirt examining the path.

It felt dishonorable to do that: to stare at him. Bloodhound hid his face from the rest of the world. If anyone saw him as he presented himself now, they would never know he was the famous Apex legend. Yet, he shared it with you… you, just some girl he found snooping around in the woods outside his house. Perhaps, you felt like you were taking advantage of him, of his trust. It was hard not to stare at expressions you had long desired to see, to take in the beauty and passion written across his face.

On the ground, you examined the tracks, trying to make sense of them: what beast they belonged to, how long ago they had been here. Quickly, you determined it was just a regular deer, likely a young one at that. But, then, you wondered, if Bloodhound’s words were to be taken literally. He didn’t explain the appearance of the chimaera’s tracks. Was it hoofed, pawed, or more like a primate? Maybe he didn’t say because he didn’t know. Maybe, every time, it was something different.

“Is there a reason why it ended up here?” you asked, resisting the urge to glance around and lock eyes with him again. “I thought they were man made…” Bloth made a sound, a quiet hum to express he was paying attention. The sound somewhat caught you off guard, due to its location. He was standing a little off to your right, whereas you had last spotted him some odd amount of feet ahead and on your left. Sheepishly, you stood up and stepped away, pretending to examine another spot with the hopes your distance wouldn’t appear obvious.

While you walked together, Bloodhound didn’t make the slightest sound to remind you that he was there: not the tiniest echo of a footstep or the faintest murmur of a breath. This wasn’t new to you, but it still made your skin prickle. The silence was also accompanied by the fact that Bloodhound didn’t walk around like a person who was almost blind. He was always so sure footed. There was something otherworldly about it: the way he carried himself.

“I’ve been trying to discover that myself,” he explained. Munnin hopped off his shoulder and fluttered into the trees. “There is a legend, not native to this planet, that kamaerah can occur in nature: a rare stok– ah – mmm… mutation…” For a moment, Bloth trailed off into silence. You couldn’t see it; but, he was making a face, contemplating a question. You couldn’t see it; but, he was staring at you briefly, with a look of wonder, asking himself if he should impose. When he gave in, it came out almost teasing, testing, “do you believe in legends?”

“Eh?” you blurted out, not expecting a question like that. Bloth was religious, that much was certain. He always spoke of the Allfather, of blessings, of honor higher than mortal desires. He called himself “the hunter the gods have sent”, perhaps even “Bloodhound” was only a persona, a version of himself crafted by the Allfather. It would only seem natural that he would believe in… well, the unnatural, in legends and myths, gods and otherworldly things. But, did you…?

Your eyes met Bloth’s milky ones and caught a sort of soft expression on his face. He almost looked pleased with your hesitance. Before you could answer, Bloodhound changed the subject. “They are dangerous. Please, be safe, felagi. I vill slatra.” You looked away to hide a smile, finding such vicious words so oddly assuring. “I got your back,” you replied, indirectly. This time, things would be different. This time, you weren’t going to let him fall.

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The day had gone by surprisingly fast, unsurprisingly quiet.

Before you knew it, the sun was falling into the trees, moments away from disappearing behind the mountains and casting you both in darkness. You had been so focused on the task at hand, so intent on keeping your mind where it needed to be and not where it kept heading, that time seemed to evade you. Some odd hours ago – you had lost count – Bloodhound said you were on the right path. He was following Muninn’s guidance, would follow the sound of her caws and coos, the fluttering of her wings, but was also blazing a trail all his own, a path you couldn’t possibly comprehend.

He would occasionally pause and lean down to examine the trail, or brush his bare hands against the trees, and it would often look as if he was staring at nothing. It amazed you, that he could sense, feel, hear, smell, see things that you could not. His face showed determination. At some point, Bloth had become so focused, he stopped talking all together, even ceasing the slightest sounds to alert you of his movement, noises he clearly made intentionally, for your sake, and not unconsciously. Unconsciously, Bloodhound was as quiet as darkness. You followed closely, fearful of being separated, but did your best to be silent.

Just as you were beginning to grow uneasy, fearful that you were in the way, a deadweight Bloth was merely carrying around behind him, he froze, knelt, and beckoned to you with his dominant hand.

You knelt in the grass and mud, mindful to not make sloshing noises in the process. Your eyes followed the path Bloth was focused on, a short ways down into a clearing, where the trees blocked out the light from the setting sun and cast heavy shadows; then, you saw it. Your hand lifted and covered your lips to silence a gasp. The mass in front of you was far more frightening than the panther and unlike anything you could have possibly imagined – it was unnatural. The beast was huge, a thick torso towering on scrawny, strangely bent legs. Its face was contorted, as though it had been torn apart and put back together. Limp limbs and masses were poking out of its back, hung uselessly, yet clearly a burdened weight.

Worst of all, it seemed to be in pain. With every slight movement, the creature wheezed and groaned. Its throat sounded contracted, swollen, and wet. Each breath rumbled the space around it, like a powerful, sucking vacuum. Little barbs, like soft spikes, on its back trembled with each slow, steady footstep. Its eyes were large and almond shaped, a dull yellow color that stared on anxiously.

It was then that it hit you: the smell. Even from so far away, you could smell the beast as if it was directly in front of you. It smelt like rotting flesh, pungent and full of ammonia, mixed with a moldy aroma, like cabbage that sat out and soaked in the rain. Your eyes watered as the smell filled your nostrils. You pinched your nose mid-breath to block the odor, and to stop yourself from unconsciously making a disapproving noise. Bloth, if bothered at all, didn’t show it.

“Felagi,” Bloodhound whispered. “This beast will not go down easily,” he warned. “Ve must be quick. Can you hit one of its eyes?” Bloth didn’t wait for confirmation for his request, and began creeping around. He disappeared into the bushes, leaving you squatting alone with a task and your hand still covering your mouth. For a second, you stared at the empty space beside you, where Bloodhound was a moment ago. When it struck you that he wasn’t waiting, you slid your bow off your back and drew an arrow. It creaked quietly as it was pulled taut, the sound being almost drowned out by your controlled inhale. One eye… You could do this. You shot smaller targets from farther away. Bloodhound was counting on you.

Bloth Hundr… was counting on you…

For a moment, you thought about the panther attack, about the sight of Bloodhound beaten and broken, bleeding and possibly moments away from death. You thought about how it was your fault. You thought about how he brushed it off as though it was an insignificant event, saying he had been in far grimmer circumstances without someone there to help him. You pondered what he had been through, the source of all those scars… Tonight, he wouldn’t be obtaining a new one.

You released the arrow and it swooshed through the air, like a lightning bolt. You saw, before the tip even landed, that Bloodhound had pounced. You weren’t sure if his faith in you was that certain or if he simply didn’t care. The arrowhead landed directly in the chimaera’s right eye, and it cried out in agony. Bloodhound had drawn his blade and landed a perfect shot into the creature’s chest, to the source of its thumping, beating heart.

Before you even had a chance to relax, he was calling out to you. “Felagi, the second haart!” You blinked rapidly, shouting out in response, “second!?” How could he have possibly known that this thing had two hearts? Could Bloth hear it? Could he hear the creature’s hearts beating in unison in its broken chest? The chimaera began thrashing and whilst Bloodhound managed to dodge a kick from one of its legs, he was not able to avoid its tail. He was knocked away, tossed like a swatted fly, and rolled in the dirt.

“Blo-!” As if he could read your thoughts, Bloodhound cut you off, shouting wildly, voice full of passion and command, “do not descend!” You had barely managed a single footstep, with the intent of aiding him, when you froze up at his command. “To the right of vhere my knife rests!” he instructed. Bloth was on his feet immediately, as if he had not been tossed some odd amount of feet mere seconds ago, running in a direction that required the chimaera to turn with the intent to follow its attacker, and effectively exposed more of its battered torso to you.

Right. The second heart. The second… heart.

With another deep inhale, you drew back a second arrow. The bow creaked in your grasp and you held your breath to steady your trembling hands. You were scared of missing – scared that Bloodhound would regret trusting you. You were scared of him getting hurt because of your lacking. You were scared that he would regret this choice. You were scared of-… disappointing him.

You grinded your teeth, breath heavy in your lungs, and let the arrow go. The beast made another sound, crying out in agony when the arrow landed in its chest. However, it did not cease its assault. The creature continued to charge at Bloodhound, in a blind furry. Bloth, however, was ready for it. He took the high ground, hopping up on a boulder to gain leverage, with the type of momentum that seemed almost unreal. A sound echoed through the air, metal on metal, as Bloodhound unsheathed a blade from his back: a long and heavy machete. The sound sent chills down your spine.

Bloodhound waited until the last possible second, eyes unfocused on the threat before him. He was listening, feeling, the fastened thumping of its hearts, its pounding, uneven footsteps on the ground. He contemplated how tall it was compared to him, the height advantage he obtained from his positioning was not quite equal footing, but doable. His dagger and your arrows disoriented it enough that it swatted at him almost blindly. In your eyes, the chimaera barely missed at all, perhaps it even landed and you couldn’t quite tell from his angle. It was enough to make you audibly shriek. For Bloodhound, those centimeters were miles. Its defenses were wide open now.

One swipe, that took all his might, the machete cut through the beast’s neck. It stopped halfway through, likely caught at the spine; but, it was deep enough to count as a decapitation. Bloodhound released the handle and stepped back rapidly to create distance, just in case he misjudged his opponent. He had not, however. The chimaera choked and gasped wetly, spluttering spit and blood from its mouth like a fountain, stumbled back, and collapsed in a heap on the ground. For a moment, it trembled and cried, desperately clinging to life. Bloodhound waited, approaching carefully, staring at the beast with unblinking eyes, listening, and waiting for the hearts to go silent.

Thump… thump… thu-….

You stood paralyzingly still until Bloodhound beckoned to you. His gentle movement made you flinch, merely because your nerves were still on edge. You descended carefully, bow still tightly in your grasp, an arrow ready at the string, and approached the chimaera’s limp body. The arrow nestled in his chest had snapped when it collapsed, but you could see what remained still protruding. You swallowed the lump in your throat and let out a pathetic, “I missed…”

Bloodhound knelt down to free his machete and dagger from the beast. Rather than ripping them from the creature, he carefully removed them and set them in the grass. He then pulled an old rag from one of the satchels attached to his pants and carefully wiped the blades clean. “If you had not landed your first arrow, I vud have been injured,” Bloth began. “It relied too much on its eyes. My dagger limited its bloth enough to disorient. Felagi, you fought vell – strohng. This vas a shared victory.” Despite Bloodhound’s words, you couldn’t help but feel doubt. Your eyes shifted back and forth between the chimaera and Bloth’s kneeling form, feeling guilt begin to rise like bile.

You turned away from the scene and refastened your bow against your back, taking an uneasy inhale. As you returned the arrow in your grasp to the quiver resting at your side, you heard Bloodhound began something akin to a prayer. “The Allfather knows no body. Only soul.” You turned to Bloodhound, to see that he was looking down at the corpse of the creature, his hands clasped in front of himself, a gesture of respect. “Only in death vill you truly know peace.” Bloodhound leaned over the chimaera and ran his gloved hand across the undamaged eye that remained open, closing it. “Your pain has ended. Haah...”

Bloodhound closed his eyes and went silent. You remained quiet, as well, not wanting to interrupt the thoughts he was circling. You tightened your lips and looked away from him, feeling as though you were intruding on this moment. “Felagi,” he suddenly spoke out, as if reading your thoughts. “You fear that you did not contribute?” he asked, right to the point. Part of you wanted to turn and face him; but, you couldn’t. You felt… unworthy. Bloodhound was an Apex Predator, a dignified warrior, and you-… you were just…

“I really don’t deserve to be here,” you stated, keeping your gaze off Bloth, though he had walked around to try and catch your attention. “I vanted you here,” he admitted, plainly. “It vent vell. Ve ended its misery.” At those words, you thought about the chimaera’s wheezing. It was such an unnatural looking thing. Bloodhound painted this picture that he killed chimaera to protect the environment; but, now, you could see, that wasn’t the only reason.

“I never vish to make you uncomfortable, felagi,” Bloth stated, his words catching you off guard. You whipped your head around to face him and feverishly denied his claim, bellowing, “you didn’t!” Bloodhound’s brows lifted slightly at your outburst; but, then, his expression relaxed. His dirty blonde hair was more tousled than usual. Thick strands were hanging around his ears. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek and disappeared into his beard. Muninn fluttered down and landed on his shoulder, messing up more of his hair in the process. However, he didn’t stop looking at you.

“You perplex me, felagi,” he calmly proclaimed, milky gaze locked with yours. “There’s not much to get,” you admitted, voice a little low, almost as if admitting to a sin. Bloodhound, perhaps unconsciously, flashed a very quick, toothy smile and pinched his eyes shut as he let out a brief huff: a laugh. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of his teeth. They were not like normal human teeth: each seeped sharpened at the tips, though not to the point of being unnatural looking. They were white, but a bit off color, like ivory. To think that you of all people perplexed Bloth Hundr… who never seemed to run out of surprises.

He stepped around you and made a motion, beckoning for you to follow, and you obeyed, realizing to yourself, like a foolish child, you never wanted to leave his side.

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That afternoon, you returned to Bloodhound’s cabin and enjoyed the sight of his house basking in the glow of the setting sun. You wondered if he intentionally built it this way. When the sun fell low, its light peaked through the trees and cast sharp rays that cascaded through the windows, like pouring radiance. His house was glowing, warm, and so inviting.

“Bloodhound, that looks expensive,” you pointed out when he presented a plate of carefully arranged, cuts of meat. “Yes,” he answered plainly, as if unamused by your statement. But, then, he suddenly realized, that that mattered to you. “I have plenty,” he added on, in a tone that suggested he didn’t want to talk about it. It made sense that Bloth had no financial worries. Apex Legends were said to get paid very handsomely for their participation, even more so for winning, and Bloodhound… well, Bloodhound never lost.

When you looked down at the cuts, you could see that he had cooked each one differently. Some of the cuts were rare, almost raw, even. A few of the other cuts were just barely singed on the surface, giving them a nice, glazed look. A few were cooked almost fully, seasoned with something that smelt spicy… and damn delicious. Bloodhound had a look on his face, something that was almost innocent and quite contradicting to other things you knew about him. He looked like he really wanted you to try it, but didn’t want to pressure you.

For a moment, you stared at him, smiling like a fool because… frankly, he looked gorgeous like that, dark blonde locks glowing in the setting sun like amber fire, tanned skin like the warm embers. His milky eyes looked a little clearer in the partial darkness. Maybe, it was easier for him. He seemed relaxed, slouching forward in the chair.

You couldn’t help but let out a snicker. “Is this… your favorite?” you asked him, tentatively, albeit smiling with curiosity. Bloodhound lifted his arms onto the table and placed his elbows near the edge. He had his arms up, fingers interlaced, and rested his cheek against his knuckles. “Yes,” he answered, plainly, again.

You reached for a piece, one that was rare and tender looking. As soon as it touched your tongue, the meat melted. You couldn’t resist a little sound, a mewl at the delightful taste. “Oh my god,” you muttered, the meat dissolving in your mouth. Bloodhound smiled, almost proudly, and joined in, going for the cuts that were the least cooked.

Together, you ate in silence, taking one piece at a time, eating it slowly to savor it. Each cut was perfection, tender and flavorful, delicious between your teeth and tingly on your tongue. At one point, you reached for the same piece together and your hands touched. Bloth immediately went for a different piece in an attempt to mask his original intentions You watched him for a second before hesitantly taking that cut.

As you ate, you realized, you wanted to tell him. To wanted to confess your feelings to him. You wanted him to know that you cared for him as more than just a friend. You wanted to caress his hand, to kiss him, to touch and be touched, to love him in every way you possibly could. That fear surfaced: the fear that he didn’t feel the same – that you would make him uncomfortable – that your confession would ruin this. But, not telling him felt... deceiving. Bloth deserved the truth: he deserved to know.

“Blood, I-” you began. He cut you off by abruptly standing up from the table. You looked up at him, startled by his actions. The worst fear bubbled up first, that he knew and was going to silence you before you could make a fool of yourself. “I forgot drinks,” he pointed out, simply, and walked to the pantry.

“Oh,” you responded robotically. You stared down at the few cuts left on the platter, suddenly feeling defeated despite having gotten nowhere with your plans for confession. Bloodhound came back with two glasses and a bottle of gold liquid. You didn’t have to guess that it was alcohol.

“You don’t have to spoil me,” you told him as he poured the glasses: a quarter full for you and half full for himself. He was smiling, softly. “Mead,” Bloth stated, his tone suggesting that he knew you had no idea what that was. “What?” you replied, as if on command. “I think… you’ll like it,” he stated, almost tentatively. “Now, I know you’re spoiling me,” you laughed, hesitantly taking the glass.

Bloodhound set the bottle on the table and sat back down, immediately taking a sip from his glass. He gulped most of it down in one go, while you took a hesitant sip. The burn was faint, like wine, and it was sweet like honey, but had the warmth of whiskey. “That’s-” you began, pausing to take another sip. “-wow.” Bloodhound looked proud that he had shared this with you.

“Did you make this?” you asked, looking at him with inquisitive eyes. Bloth shrugged, as if he didn’t know the answer, though his face suggested otherwise. “You did!” you gawked. “It’s really good. I’ve never had anything like it.” As you took another sip, Bloodhound commented something, quietly, “it’s from my home world…”

You looked up at Bloth, who was looking away, his glossy eyes staring off into the distance blindly, as if he was thinking about something. You wanted to ask. You wanted to know where he came from, who he was. Was Bloodhound his real name? How did he become such a skilled hunter? The language that he spoke: what was it? The Allfather… All these things, all these questions. Instead, you smiled against your glass. “Thank you for sharing it with me…”

As you took a final sip, in the corner of your eye, you could see Bloth’s smile before he lifted his glass and finished what remained in a single gulp. He looked happy, genuinely happy, the sort of happiness that looked pure and unbridled. You were glad you were here to see it.

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Standing on Bloodhound’s porch, you exhaled warm breath into the chilly night air. He stood by the door, milky eyes watching and waiting. You stared back, mystified, heart hammering away in your chest, feeling a little lightheaded. There was a tiny voice in the back of your mind, whispering, “what if you ruin this? What if he never wants to see you again? What if you make him uncomfortable or - or disgusted?” You pushed that voice aside, allowing yourself the bliss of hope, trying to muster up some courage. You wanted to give in, you wanted to know if there would ever be more.

You stepped in close and placed your hands on Bloodhound’s shoulders. His brow lowered slightly, expressing confusion; but, he made no motion to move away. You hesitated, wondering if that was rejection long before you even had the chance to make your motivations clear. But, the voice had been silenced by the thundering of your pulse in your ears. “Thank you for-… Bloth, I - for – for everything,” you whispered, clearly out of breath despite having done nothing but stare at him. Your dominant hand lifted off his shoulder and gently caressed the scruff of his beard, along his jawline. Then, you leaned in and pressed the faintest kiss to his lips.

Bloodhound was stiff as a statue, unmoving against your caress. You pulled back and looked up into his eyes to find him staring back, expression unreadable. Embarrassment flooded you. You felt heat rise to your ears and nausea toss your stomach. You stared and waited for a response, but Bloth continued to be unmoving, unblinking, hands resting limp at his sides.

No – oh no.

You removed your hands from him, practically tearing them away, and sputtered, “I’m – I’m so sorry – ” Your words seemed to bring him back to reality. Suddenly, his hands were on you. It happened so quickly, it knocked the wind out of you. Bloodhound manhandled you, swapping your positions so your back was flush against the front door to his cabin. He practically slammed you against it, rattling the wood and forcing an embarrassing sound from your throat. You felt his mouth claim yours, silencing your surprised squeal, and all other thoughts – doubts, fears – were swept away. His kiss was wild, almost violent, and you didn’t hesitate to return it with equal fervor.

Bloodhound’s hands curled beneath your ribs, fingers caressing the curvature of your bones as though holding a delicate instrument, while his lips claimed yours like a starved man. Your arms ended up around his shoulders, hands gripping fist fulls of his jacket, clinging for dear life. That might as well have been the case, for if you were ever kissed like that before, you couldn’t recall. It was the kind of passion you had only ever read about, but never experienced. His kisses were almost painful; but, you couldn’t resist how good he tasted.

Some uncertain time later, Bloodhound pulled back and took a breath, eyes flashing open for a second as though he intended to say something. However, it was immediately lost when he plunged forward again and continued his assault. You whimpered and Bloodhound growled in response, vibrating against your lips. His growl tasted as good as his lips.. It made you tremble, from your ears, all the way down to your toes. It was a sound you had heard before, whilst watching him battle in the Apex Games: the sound of a beast on the hunt.

His tongue found its way into your mouth and you clung tightly to him in desperation and submission, pulling him close with your arms and smooshing your chest against his. You tilted your head further to the side to allow him deeper passage. Your neck had to crane back slightly to accommodate his slight height advantage. Bloodhound’s dominant hand found it’s way to the side of your neck and continued its journey to the back of your head, holding you in place so his tongue could claim your cavern.

He was unwavering, expecting nothing more than your absolute yield. You didn’t want to resist. You wanted to give and give and take and take. Nothing had made you feel as alive as Bloth’s mouth practically devouring yours. You felt beautiful, wanted, needed. When your tongue brushed against his, tentative, but eager, he gave up the assault to caress yours in return. It was sloppy and wet, and you might have been embarrassed otherwise, if not for the wild hunger you and Bloodhound shared in that moment..

Bloth’s other hand unconsciously squeezed your side, pressing roughly against your ribs. You twitched in a motion that was undoubtedly discomfort and he immediately ceased. He carefully pulled back and pressed his forehead against your temple, panting against your cheek. “F-forgive me. I lost control,” he whispered out, unevenly. Teasingly, with a little, toothy smile, you replied, “never seen you lose control before…”

In the corner of your eye, you could see his lips twitch into a small smile, glistening from your combined saliva. Bloodhound took a deep breath and leaned back slightly to look at you. As his eyes locked with yours, his hands, rough, calloused, scared, burned, lifted and caressed the sides of your jaw. His digits were so long, his palms so big, that he ended up holding some of your cheeks, as well. He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I vanted you for so long… but I vas afraid,” he confessed, guilt present in his tone. “-that I might frighten or hurt you…” Your hands slid over Bloth’s, barely managing to cover them in a gentle caress. You leaned in a bit, pressing your forehead a little firmly against his. You, too, confessed, “I was scared that you didn’t feel the same – I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But, you – you’ve never hurt me…” Bloodhound lifted his head to nuzzle his cheek against your temple. It was something no one had ever done to you before. It gave you the same feeling of protection you felt when his mask’s big, round eyes stared at you.

“That day, vhen I said the Allfather blessed us, it vasn’t the hunt…” Bloodhound trailed off, as if uncertain to what he wanted to confess to you. Somehow, you knew what he meant. You felt, like a surge of electricity, overwhelming relief that, all this time, he felt the same, he longed for you the same as you had for him. Your arms encircled around his mid-section and wrapped around his back in an embrace. Bloodhound’s hands continued to hold you as he leaned down to kiss you again.

This time, it was gentler… somewhat gentler. His kisses were firm, demanding your submission, but also gentle, pleading your submission. Occasionally, he nibbled, and, at one point, you could have sworn you felt teeth at the edge of your lips, barely scraping your skin. Then, rather suddenly, he stopped. As Bloth pulled away, you could see emotions dancing across his face: uncertainty, worry, contemplation. Once again, you wanted to take the risk that maybe you knew what he was feeling, what he was thinking – or, at least, you hoped it was the same as yours.

“I-I want you,” you panted, blurting out a confession. You could have cursed yourself for the stutter, for it didn’t convey confidence. Yet, that was what you felt. You wanted him in the most blessed, and yet darkest, of ways. “I want you – so bad. I-… I’m not afrai-” you paused when Bloodhound interrupted you. “It has been so long,” he confessed, not sounding embarrassed, but, rather, concerned. “I von’t be able to… restrain myself.” At that confession, Bloth suddenly did look embarrassed. You could see the faintest hint of red on his cheeks and a look of shame in his eyes.

It occurred to you, then, that you didn’t know this side of Bloodhound. You didn’t know what kind of lover he was. Up until now, you never really knew if Bloth was a lover at all. Yet, you had dreamt of him in ways a friend did not dream of another friend. You fantasized about things he would do to you, things he would say, long before you knew what awaited under the mask. Sometimes, those dreams were innocent, and sometimes, they weren’t. No matter what, you wanted what was real.

“Blood, I want you – the real you – not the watered down you – or the you that the rest of the world sees – but, the you that only you know – that you hide from the world – that – that….” You paused to take a breath, flushing with embarrassment when you realized you were babbling on senselessly.

“Elskan,” Bloodhound exhaled as if he was holding his breath. He leaned in, lips falling against your temple, shielding most of his face from your gaze. “W-what?” you stuttered, clueless to what he just said. Bloth didn’t immediately respond, but began mumbling something in his native tongue. It was breathy and warm against your temple, spoken in a way as if he was trying to keep it to himself. You could feel his lips moving against your skin while he talked. Somehow, you knew it was dirty, perhaps in the hushed way he said it, or just intuition, and it made you blush. Then, suddenly, he stopped, and exhaled again.

“I vill slatra,” he whispered and you could see the faintest smile on his lips. Was he joking? You couldn’t help but let out a harsh sound through your nose, followed by a giggle. You smacked his bicep in a manner that was clearly not the least bit harmful. Bloodhound exhaled a single laugh, like he was trying to hold it in. “You little-!” you began, without any clear direction to your teasing insult. Bloth silenced any more words with a kiss, firm, yet gentle. You could taste his request: let me have you.

Yes, yes, please.

You clung to him, hoping your body told him everything he wanted to hear. The door opened behind you and you stumbled back into the darkness of Bloodhound’s home. All the lights were off, except for the fireplace, which created a faint, warm, reddish glow. However, on the upper level, the light barely reached, casting you in darkness. The door closed behind Bloodhound, who stood in the shadows for a moment. You stared into the darkness, searching for his shimmering, milky eyes.

You could feel Bloth staring back. It was almost as if he was toying with you, soaking in your desperation as you leaned against the railing, staring almost uneasily in the darkness, waiting for him, chest rising and falling dramatically with your panting. Like a blanket shielding you from the elements, his body descended upon yours, pinning you against the railing. The light from the fireplace barely reached him, giving you hardly any outline of his face.

What you could see was tantalizing. Bloodhound appeared in a manner of which you had never seen before. You could see the faint glow of hungry eyes, the sharp ridges of scars and tattered skin making out a battle born man, tan flesh warm in the faint light. He looked ravenous: the face of an apex predator mere seconds before they captured their squirming prey. He didn’t kiss your lips, but growled against your jawline, receiving a gasp in response. One of his hands firmly, but gently, tugged on your hair, forcing your head back to expose your throat. His digits tangled in your locks, his long fingers practically stretching over the entire expansion of the back of your skull.

He wasted no time biting into your searing flesh: not nibbling or kissing… biting, enough that you felt the sharp points of his teeth dragging across your skin, though not quite aggressively enough to break the surface and draw blood. The sensation, pleasure mixed with sprinklings of pain, made your legs tremble, tremble against his, which were tangled with yours. A symphony of mewls, whimpers and gasps poured from your parted lips, quite loud in the silence of Bloodhound’s living room. Even he was making noises, quiet groans of satisfaction, soft growls to spur you on.

His other hand roughly grabbed the outside if your thigh to hike your leg up on his hip. You aided in his effort and curled your leg over his backside. The hand that gripped the back of your head moved downward, fingers prodding at your spine as though counting each vertebra. His hand stopped at your lower back and fingers splayed out. While his hand moved, so did his mouth, down your throat and across your clothed chest. You let your head fall back, over the edge of the railing, and your back arched as best you could, into his touch. Bloth mouthed over a clothed breast, teeth threatening to rip the fabric to shreds.

“Please,” you whimpered, the sound falling from your lips almost unconsciously. You swarmed with embarrassment that such a plea, such a pathetic little sound, would leave your mouth. You weren’t sure if Bloodhound was answering your request or ignoring you. His mouth moved back up, across clothed skin, nipped at your exposed throat. You lifted your head, though your eyes remained closed, lips parted in anticipation, and his lips found yours again.

Bloth Hundr’s kiss didn’t feel like the kiss of any other man. His kisses warmed your blood, sent violent tremors down your spine, and made your skin tingle. He had to of felt it, for he stopped and parted from your lips with a wet sound. “Elskan, do I hurt you?” he asked, panting gently against your mouth. There it was again: Elskan. Was that a sort of pet name, you wondered? You shook your head, causing the tip of your nose to bump against the tip of his nose. “No – it’s just – never – never been this good before,” you confessed, breathing heavily onto his lips.

At those words, Bloodhound looked almost injured. His eyes narrowed dangerously and his lips shifted into something like a snarl, showing off the tantalizing, sharp canines you had glanced at earlier: the same sharp canines that were nibbling into your flesh seconds ago. For a moment, you feared you had said the wrong thing; but, then, Bloodhound’s mouth captured yours again, and you realized exactly what kind of hurt you had caused. You hugged him tighter with the leg curled around his hip, wanting to feel a part of him that you had only dreamt about. His layers of clothing prevented that, however.

Bloth separated from you, panting like a wild animal. He looked ravenous, lips wet and teeth bared. You had barely begun, barely touched lips, and he already looked prepared to rip your clothes off and take you here and now, against the railing, or on the floor, perhaps. Truthfully, you wouldn’t be opposed to that, even if it wasn’t a proper first time between you two.

He knelt down suddenly, and your gaze followed him, confused. He leaned against your legs, wrapped an arm around the back of your knees, and hoisted you into the air. You cried out in a very undignified wail as you were essentially tossed over Bloth’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Bloodhound!” you screamed. Yet, a huge smile was on your face, a laugh ready to erupt. “Why are you – I can walk!” you defended your honor, gently beating a fist against his back, not at all with the intention of hurting him. When he descended the stairs, you realized he had carried you like this because he needed a free hand, or, maybe, he just enjoyed humiliating you in the privacy of his own home.

He crossed the living room, with you in tote, and dropped you on his bed. You groaned quietly when you hit the sheets, and immediately looked up at him with a scowl. “You brute,” you scolded him without the slightest bit of malice. Bloodhound looked pleased with himself, his glossy, white eyes looking down at you indirectly, a small smile on his face.

“Elskan,” he breathed. “May I?” Bloodhound’s scarred hands curled beneath the hem of your jacket and paused, awaiting approval. You nodded your head rapidly and lifted your arms to help him pull it off. Bloodhound barely gave you a second to process before he was pulling off your undershirt, unclipping your bra and tugging it off your body. It all seemed like a blur. Suddenly, your belt was clattering to the floor, shoes and socks carefully, yet swiftly, ripped off, pants and underwear dragged down your legs.

Suddenly, you were completely naked in his bed, while Bloodhound remained completely clothed, hovering over you, looking down at you like a wild animal on the verge of pouncing on unexpecting prey. You were acutely aware that your face was red, chest dramatically rising and falling with your uneasy breaths. He leaned down and pecked a kiss to your forehead, a soft and gentle kiss, like a plea, maybe to himself, before he descended. You arched into him and felt only clothes, but was too mystified to complain.

Bloodhound’s hands explored every inch he could reach, touching flesh that his eyes couldn’t properly see. He squeezed at your thighs, massaged the curve between your ribs and hips, slid a heavy hand up and down your back, dipped his thumb into the crevice between your thigh and womanhood, to tease at the skin. All that while his mouth nibbled at your mounds. He purposely avoided your nipples, even when you arched into him and whimpered, trying to encourage him to touch you further.

His hands smoothed over your shoulders, even ran down your legs and touched your feet. At one point, his dominant hand curled around your neck, as if judging your reaction. You gasped and arched into it, surprised at the sudden contact. You had never been touched like that before: dangerously. Bloodhound didn’t immediately address it, however, deciding to save it for later, and moved his hand elsewhere.

Finally, when he was content with having touched every inch, minus your sex, he cupped one breast in his dominant hand and drew the other nipple into his mouth. “Oh!” you cried out, legs flailing out and knocking against his own legs, as he finally relieved some of that built up tension. Bloth started out careful, lapping with his tongue and sliding his thumb over the other. As he continued, he grew more brutal, until he was pinching one between two fingers and harshly sucking on the other. You knew they would be sore tomorrow; but, you couldn’t help but encourage him to continue.

“Blood,” you whimpered. “Please, please I can’t-” you panted, almost desperate enough to express what it was you wanted. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted him to touch you in your most sacred of places, to breach your walls and lay claim to your body. Bloodhound finally pulled back and looked down at you, squinting as he tried desperately to take in the sight of your skin, peppered with bites, your nipples perky and hard from his torment.

Bloth didn’t immediately process that he should ask you first. He merely grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your belly. You gasped at the action, but was compliant. Bloodhound was prepared to tug you onto your knees, when he froze up. He was panting, teeth bared and skin glistening with sweat. He had to calm down, he realized, slow down… take his time… you were his, all his. There was no need to act so vicious.

“Is-… is this al’rht?” he asked, almost nervously, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to relax. You leaned up on your elbows to rotate your upper body enough to look back at him, startled by his tone. Bloth Hundr opened his eyes just as you gazed upon his face. You could see the desperation, the hunger, but also the softness, the adoration in his eyes.

“I told you,” you began, whispering. You turned back around and shifted, getting up on your knees, as he wanted you. It was a little embarrassing, honestly, to be on display like this. It was a degrading position on its own; but, it was also Bloth Hundr, who had yet to see all of you: who had yet to see you like this, ready and willing for him. “I want the real you,” you finished, on your knees and elbows, your face pressed into the sheets, for him, just for him.

Bloodhound suddenly inhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath. He smoothed his hands over your plump cheeks and slid down your thighs. He was staring; and, even though he couldn’t see very well, it was still embarrassing. It was impossible to remain that way when you felt what was, without a doubt, Bloth’s mouth on your sex. He wasted no time plunging his tongue inside and you cried out in euphoria and embarrassment.

His tongue was much like the rest of him: unexpected. He slid it in and out of your sex with precision, like it was not a sloppy organ difficult to control, but a digit on his hand. It felt firm and long; or, maybe, you were just so hyped up on adrenaline, that it seemed that way, for it hadn’t felt like this when it was in your mouth. His beard tickled the delicate folds of your flower, the soft hairs steadily becoming soaked with your juices as he devoured you. When he moaned at the delicious taste, the sound vibrated against your searing flesh.

“Ah – Hound!” you cried out, fingers grabbing fistfuls of the bed sheets. He immediately set a delicious pace: not too fast to disorient, but enough to dizzy you with pleasure. One hand had slid around to the front to toy with your pearl. The pad of his finger flicked it carefully, but firmly. It was perfect: it was absolute bliss. You felt like you were drunk on the sensation, lost to the world except for Bloodhound’s assault on your sex. You failed to realize that you were drooling on the sheets.

But, then, Bloodhound’s other hand, that had been gripping your thigh, slid up, and did something unexpected. He placed his hand on your lower back, and slid his thumb down to gently press it at the entrance to your backside. You let out a brief squeal, having never been touched there before. With the pad of his thumb, Bloth circled the puckered rim of your ass, threatening to slip inside but never quite breaching the muscle. It felt naughty, like breaking a rule for the first time, doing something dangerous and taboo. He wasn’t forceful, but teasing. You couldn’t deny, it felt good.

At some point, Bloodhound pulled back his mouth, but kept his hands working. The loss made you whimper: while his touches were amazing, it wasn’t enough to satisfy. At first, you assumed he was merely taking a breather. But, it became obvious that he was waiting for a reaction from you. You felt empty. Your sex was tingling and dripping. You wanted – needed – to be filled, and Bloodhound knew that.

“Bloodhound, I-…” you began, trailing off as if hoping he would catch on. His hands had slowed down, but kept touching you enough to keep you twitching. “Elskan,” he stated, in an almost questioning tone. “Please,” you begged. But, he didn’t answer. “I want…” you trailed off again, whimpering when he leaned down to gently bite at the back of your thigh. “I want you… in-inside me. Please – Bl - Hun-dr…” you yielded in heavy pants, pleading him in a desperate voice that made him tremble.

Bloodhound removed his hands from your sex and flipped you onto your back. You laid there, limp and compliant, arms flailed above your head, dripping juices and feeling deliriously high, but not satisfied. Bloodhound moved you closer to the bed post and followed, hovering above you. He looked beautiful: beard wet with your juices, eyes delirious and almost savage, lips parted and teeth bared like a beast.

He removed his belt carefully and tossed it to the floor, before undoing the button and zipper on his pants. He lowered his trousers just enough to free his cock. It flopped out and fell onto your thigh, heavy and throbbing, burning hot like an iron pulled from the fire. It was difficult to look at it properly in the dim lighting, but you could tell that his size was perfect: enough to satisfy, but not too much that it would hurt you.

You let out a little noise at the sight, unable to resist staring. Bloth suddenly gripped the base, hard; and, you realized, it was to calm himself down, to push back the tension that had wound him so tight. You reached up and cupped his jaw, whispering, “Bloth.” He placed his hands on the bed post, explaining why he had moved you, and remained above you, hovering, knees planted on the bed. For a moment, you looked confused. But, Bloodhound’s face, riddled with passion and desire, also expressed his fear. His hands were there so that he wouldn’t hurt you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your heels in the back of his thighs. Before you could help guide him in, Bloodhound shifted his hips and effortlessly snagged the tip on your entrance. Suddenly, he was buried to the hilt and you gasped and whimpered at the intrusion. Bloth squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the bed frame so hard that it squeaked.

He let out a sound that was sharp and venomous: a curse word in his tongue, most likely. You stared up at him, mesmerized by his face, by the power he exerted. Above you, he looked so strong, like nothing in this world could ever undo him, except you. He looked as though he was struggling to maintain his sanity, to not become a slave to the pleasure your body gave him. His cock throbbed inside you, and you whimpered, not quite yet used to him.

Then, suddenly, Bloth exhaled a heavy breath of air, as if he had been holding it in. “H-hound, is it okay? A-are you okay?” you asked, stuttering from the sensation of your womanhood filled to the brim, tone expressing your worry. Bloodhound opened his eyes and looked upon your face. He opened his mouth; but, no words came out. He nodded, eventually.

“I-… please,” you began, reaching up to touch his clothed forearms. Your hand slid down to tuck into the sleeve, so you could touch his bare skin. Bloodhound’s shoulders twitched at the sensation. “I’m not afraid,” you whispered, promised, voice confident, yet pleading. You wanted to feel his arms around you, to be trapped in his embrace. You wanted him to cling to you, to crush your smaller body against his larger one. You wanted to feel the weight of him holding you down, the passion of him claiming your body.

Bloodhound whispered your name, a breathy word, heavy in his accent, that signaled his surrender. He fell forward, one arm wrapping around your upper back to bring you into his chest, and the other curling beneath one of your knees to hike your leg up, high on his hip, and grasp at your thigh. Your cheek fell into his neck just as Bloth began to move. He was slow for a moment, testing how much you had adjusted to his size.

You both heard it, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. Bloth growled above you and you, in response, let out a pathetic, pleased whimper. Finally, finally, he began moving properly. You let out a cry and wrapped your arms around his upper back, trying to find purchase. His arms held you in place, ensuring he could smoothly thrust in and out of your heart. The wet, slopping sounds of your unity echoed around the bedroom, only drowned out by the sounds that escaped you every time he slid back in, right to the hilt.

“Blood – Bloth – Hah – Hound – Hu – Hugnnn,” you panted, broken pieces of his name, again and again and again. Bloth shifted his hips, changed the angle slightly, a bit over here, a bit over there, until he found the perfect spot, where he could bring you to the peak of ecstasy. Your head tossed back and you cried out, “there! Pl-please, don’t… stop…!”

Your eyes, hazy with pleasure, looked up at Bloodhound. He looked wild: his hair a mess, eyes staring down at you with dedication, half-lidded from the pleasure. His lips were parted, teeth bared as he panted through them like a ravenous dog. As you stared, you finally grew quiet for a moment, and you heard it. As he fucked you, Bloodhound was growling. It was quiet, faint, almost unnoticeable, but it was there. You recognized that sound: he sounded the way he did when he hunted.

At that realization, your eyes rolled back into your head and you cried out again. With the opportunity presented to him, Bloth took it. He freed his arm from beneath your back and wrapped his fingers around your throat. He didn’t squeeze or press down on you, but held you. It was almost gentle, even, albeit firm.

That was new: another way that you had never been touched by a man. Up until now, you had never met someone like Bloodhound – you had never met someone whom you desired to touch you in such a way. It was possessive; yet, Bloth’s hand was gentle. He could feel your pulse hammering away against his fingers. You moaned lewdly, expressing your approval, and kept your head back to accommodate his large hand.

“Close – so close-!” you moaned, briefly aware of the fact that you sounded so unlike yourself. Had sex ever felt this good before? Had you ever felt so completely void of all thoughts, minus the feeling of a man’s cock inside you, his hand caressing your throat? No. It had never felt like this before.

You screamed, body curled up against Bloth Hundr and legs squeezing at his waist, pleading that he never stop. He didn’t cease his unrelenting pace, not even a faint falter, not for a second, until you had come down from your high. He released your neck and placed his hand on the bed to give him leverage. Then, you started to feel him falter, his own orgasm likely approaching. In the after state, you were tighter, squishier, soaked. You couldn’t resist staring up at him, at the sight of pleasure etched across his face. He struggled to maintain composure.

“Inside – please,” you begged him, completely careless to how foolish it was to blindly trust him so much. Yet, you did. You trusted Bloodhound with everything.

That seemed to undo him, and Bloodhound let out a sound like nothing you had ever heard before: a low moan, deep in his throat, that resonated like a growl, masculine and yet, not quite human. It should have probably frightened you; but, it only made your heart falter, your sex tremble. You felt the burning heat of his seed in your sex, like liquid fire. Just the same as your own orgasm, Bloth kept up the pace, not ceasing until he was spent and sensitive. Your arms tightened around him, encouraging him to settle atop you. Bloodhound, with a bit of resistance, eventually surrendered and collapsed.

“Bl-blood, are you okay?” you asked, a bit worried by the harsh, frantic way that he panted above you. He responded immediately by nuzzling his face into the side of your head. After a second of that gesture, he leaned up and his lips found yours. It was sloppy, a little wet, but, most importantly, it was passionate. When he stopped, he immediately resumed nuzzling against you, as if he was trying to hide his face from you.

“Hound, let me see,” you requested, trying to lean back. He didn’t respond, at first. You waited, enjoying the feeling of his cock going soft inside you, enjoying the feeling of his warm body. When he finally leaned up, you smiled at the beautiful face above you.

His glossy eyes were glistening a faint red hue, his cheeks pinkened from the intensity of your activities. His freckles looked darker than normal, and he was coated in a thin layer of sweat. “You’re so beautiful,” you blurted out, reaching up to caress his face. Bloth caught your thumb in between his teeth, without any malice, and nibbled on the digit harmlessly. “No one c’ud compare to you,” he replied, sounding a little breathless.

“Vill you stay vith me?” he asked, leaning up and carefully pulling back from you. His cock slipped free and you blushed at the sensation of your combined juicing leaking from your womanhood. You leaned up to stare at him as Bloodhound tucked himself away and fixed his clothes. You expected him to strip; but, didn’t show your disappointment on your face.

“Please,” you breathed, as if it was you who had asked. As if unable to resist, Bloth leaned in and pressed another kiss to your lips. He walked away, into what you guessed was the closet of his bedroom. You could hear his shoes being discarded, clothes being removed, and then more fabric shuffling.

This time, when Bloth returned, fully clothed, you did express the disappointment on your face. When your eyes met his, Bloodhound looked away, embarrassed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at his lap, as if contemplating what to say to you. “Bloodhound, I-…” you began, hesitant on what to say, unsure of what you wanted to say.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you settled on, crawling over to sit behind him. You were disappointed: there was no denying that. But, you didn’t want to push him past his comfort zone. Bloodhound didn’t do things for no reason. Whatever it was, it was as important as his identity, his true name, his home world. You would wait, no matter how long it took.

You placed your hand on his clothed shoulder, the very one you had helped him cauterize not so long ago. “It’s okay,” you promised. Bloodhound turned around and pulled you into his arms, before dragging both of you into the center of the bed. Together, you nuzzled into the sheets until you were comfortable in the mountain of pillows and blankets.

You tugged one of Bloth’s arms free so you could bring his hand around. You took hold of it and placed it against your cheek. “This,” you said, as you placed his massive hand on your face. “-is good enough for me.” His hand was covered in scars, old burns, and healed wounds you couldn’t even describe. But, it was the same hand that guided you, trusted you, made love to you.

Bloodhound leaned his head into your chest and gently removed his hand from your grasp so he could return it to your back. He snuggled in close, tangling your legs in the process. You used the opportunity to run a hand carefully through his dark blonde locks. “Ég elska þig,” he whispered into your skin, his breath warm and tingly as his soft beard. “What does that mean?” you whispered back.

Bloodhound didn’t answer.


End file.
